


All The Rage

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon, Drama, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Suspense, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-15
Updated: 2006-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-27 05:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12074415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian Kinney has a secret that only his best friend, Michael Novotny knows. He's not merely a respected ad exec, he's also Rage -- Gay Pittsburgh's very own super hero.





	1. Prologue:

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: This fic is not meant to be my version of the 'Rage' comic from the show, this is a melding of my interpreted world of 'Rage' with the world of 'QAF'. As a result characters may be OOC and things might appear just weird, suspend your belief if you intend to read and enjoy, if you can't, please either don't proceed, or don't flame me.  


* * *

Brian Kinney was an ad executive; sex on feet. He had a single-minded, charismatic and entirely ruthless approach to his job. There wasn't anything Brian Kinney couldn't sell. He was quite simply put, the best in the business.

Brian was the best at a lot of things. Not only was he a valuable commodity at work, he was also considered a valuable commodity at play. 'Play' consisted of fucking and sucking on Liberty Avenue. The queers of Liberty had unofficially crowned him the king of their fair portion of town, their Stud with a capital 'S'. Everyone either wanted to fuck Brian Kinney, or had been fucked by Brian Kinney and was desperate for another go.

Outside of work and play, there was another side to Brian that only one other person knew of; the side that he revealed at night, or times of crisis. This was the side that baffled news reporters and indebted fans had dubbed 'Rage'. 

Brian Kinney was a superhero, and his best friend, Michael Charles Novotny, was his sidekick. Brian had been a superhero since he was fourteen and had discovered his gift. Perhaps it was more true to say that Brian had discovered his gift at fourteen and after using it for self-gratification (he'd manipulated his coach into sleeping with him) and for fun (he'd screwed around with the heads of a few of his school's homophobic teachers), he had shared his secret with his friend. Michael, being the levelheaded and self-sacrificing sort, had guilted and scolded Brian until he'd promised to use his power of mind control for the good of all. 

It had started small. At fourteen, Brian wasn't prepared to make a job of it, but he'd honored his promise. He'd kept his school running smoothly without drawing any attention to himself. No one questioned why bullies only brawled with each other; why Mr. Porter the school's math teacher who was rumored to be molesting students had a breakdown and was forced to leave; they accepted it, and overlooked it. Brian learned that, given a choice, people would rather believe in a black-and-white world, in karma, in justice, he knew people didn't often need an explanation, so long as they had a flicker of hope to cling to. 

After high school, Brian had continued his quiet protection of the trod-upon. He couldn't exactly pin-point when he begun to expand his focus from his own environment, like his high school, or his university, to include Liberty Avenue, and all of Pittsburgh. Thinking on it now, it seemed like a subtle transition. Maybe when he was at Babylon he'd seen some homophobic pricks picking on some fag or something similar, and from there, once he was working at Ryder's advertising firm where there really wasn't much of anything happening outside of work, it seemed only natural to expand his focus.

 

Michael was Rage's sidekick from the beginning. At first it had been a bit like Holmes and Watson: Brian would give his friend things to keep him occupied while Brian went ahead and dealt with the issue. Later, Michael would function as the distraction when the situation called for it. Eventually, Brian began to trust Michael when it came to handling trouble, and from then on it was Rage and Zephyr all the way. Though Michael didn't have a superpower, he made up for it with his determination and sheer stubbornness. It didn't hurt that Brian had taught him to kick-ass and that Michael (with the help of Brian) had created his own little gadgets. 

They were a team; and as a team, they functioned perfectly. 

Lately, though, things had been different for Brian Kinney. Michael had, up to that point, been a constant in Brian's life, both as Michael and as Zephyr. Now, more often than not, Michael was out with his David Cameron, his chiropractor boyfriend, with whom Brian did not get along. Mostly Brian resented Michael's attention being diverted; more and more, Rage was protecting Liberty Avenue on his own while Zephyr stayed at home, happily fluffing and folding with his hubby.

Brian adjusted to the change. He wasn't happy about it, but he understood it and couldn't begrudge his friend anything, especially happiness. It didn't mean that Brian had to make nice with Dr. Dave, but he managed to tone down his hostility. 

He fell into a routine: times when he and Michael would spend time together, and times when Brian hung-out at his usual haunts by himself; nights when Rage and Zephyr would protect the streets of Pittsburgh, and nights when Rage would prowl alone.

It was a routine that Brian adjusted to, but if there was one thing he should have known, it was that whenever things became stable and predictable, something always happened to fuck it all up.

\----------------------  
End Prologue:  
\----------------------


	2. Far From Ordinary

Brian's life had lately fallen into a distinct rhythm.  
  
He'd wake every morning to the sound of his alarm. He'd wash and dress and head to work where he would have meetings with clients interspersed between periods of brainstorming and research and planning, and also fixing the various fuck-ups from the art department. Every now and then, Ryder would call him for a meeting about something. Sometimes his meetings called for him to leave Pittsburgh, and Brian savored those moments because they were as close to holidays as he ever came.  
  
He hadn't had any such meetings of late, however, and so Brian would return home to change, head over to Woody's for a drink, fuck a few tricks and then don his mask and suit and protect the streets of Liberty - which he had come to call Gayopolis, because Michael said every superhero should have some bizarrely named domain to protect. He'd return home where he would collapse into his regenerative bed, then awake the next morning to his alarm and it would begin again.  
  
It was like living the same day over and over. Everything was so predictable, even the fuck-ups at work weren't anything that couldn't be easily rectified. He was apparently in-between arch nemeses, and the streets of Liberty were relatively peaceful.  
  
So it was with a certain amount of aggravation that Brian opened the secret panel in his closet and took-out his purple suit with the rip across the chest. There seemed to be little need for Rage these days. He supposed that was a good thing, but with work being so predictable, Brian was depending on the usual chaos of the streets to spice things up in his life. Putting it all aside, he withdrew his mask and put it on before heading to his window, opening it, and climbing to the roof.  
  
Over the years, Rage had learned that rooftops were an inconspicuous and handy way to travel. He didn't live too far from Gayopolis, and his rather unexpected popularity among gays everywhere made it necessary to stay out of sight until he was needed, to avoid being attacked by his fans. He was usually was only out at night, perching on the roof of the popular nightclub, Babylon, because it afforded a fairly good view of Gayopolis, and also because it was the most popular place in the area.  
  
It was a cool night in the middle of spring, but Rage had found that the temperature never affected him much. His suit, despite the large tear across his broad chest, and the thinness of the fabric, was designed specifically to maintain a stable body temperature, and most of the time, Rage was moving anyway and didn't have time to get cold. That wasn't the case that night, however, as he perched atop Babylon and surveyed the streets. It was already nearing three o'clock in the morning and nothing had happened that required his attention. Not even a twink brawl which were pretty commonplace.  
  
He waited until the familiar sounds of Babylon closing filled the streets. From out of the building on which he perched, crowds of gay men spilled out of the doors, laughing and talking, and some petting heavily. He watched as everyone headed home, some on foot, some in cars, none of them seeming to have a care in the world. He stayed until the streets were relatively clear before he, too, rose and turned away from Babylon.  
  
A light drizzle had started-up, and Rage leapt from Babylon's roof to the next with ease, moving swiftly despite the rain and he reached the next gap quickly. He was already preparing to jump when his senses went on alert. He'd learned to trust his instincts and so he shut his eyes and concentrated hard on the sound.  
  
It was very faint, but quite plain: the shuffling of feet and the dull thud of shoes as they connected with a body. Rage sprung into action, heading towards the noise and quickly came upon the scene.  
  
Five guys surrounded a smaller figure. In the dim light, he could make-out the twink's slender form as he struggled against his abusers. The twink was on the ground, curling in on himself in an attempt to remove a target for the feet which kicked at him harshly, but his hands were out and making grabs at the shoes, and he managed to topple one of his attackers which distracted the others long enough for the twink to break free of the huddle. Rage hurried towards the scene, watching as the twink unsteadily got to his feet and managed two shaky steps before one of the men grabbed the back of his shirt and jerked him back viciously.  
  
The twink's hands were at his throat, trying to stop his shirt from choking him, held fast by two of the brutes as another one came forward, a wooden baseball bat clutched in his hands. “Hey, Faggot!” the bat-wielding bastard shouted, and the twink twisted in the grip of his attackers. Rage watched as the bat came swinging out and the twink turned his head away. Already Rage was exerting his powers of mind control but it didn't stop the bat from connecting against the twink's head.  
  
The sharp crack of the bat meeting flesh and bone echoed in the alleyway, and as Rage twisted the thoughts of the homophobes, turning them against each other, he watched as the limp form of the twink toppled to the ground. He watched in satisfaction as the one wielding the bat was struck from behind by one of his buddies who carried what looked like a lacrosse stick.  
  
Ignoring the brawl that was happening not a few feet away, Rage knelt down on the damp pavement and examined the twink. Blood was already pouring from the wound on his forehead, and the kid wasn't opening his eyes. A quick check of his vitals proved that he was fading.  
  
Rage might have been a superhero with powers to match, but he was no healer and he couldn't work miracles. With a muttered curse, he shifted his position and carefully lifted the unconscious twink into his arms. When he had the lean body balanced in his arms, Rage took-off as fast as he could run to the closest hospital.  
  
He hated the smell of hospitals, hated the antiseptic, cold and daunting hallways. Regardless, he was quite familiar with them. He carried the twink to the emergency desk; feeling satisfied that the nurse there was already pushing out a gurney for kid in his arms. The staff at this hospital had gotten used to seeing him enter in costume, carrying some injured person or another.  
  
“What happened?” asked the doctor who had run forward to join them as Rage had deposited his cargo onto the gurney.  
  
“He was bashed,” Rage answered, his voice low and rough. “A wooden baseball bat to the head.”  
  
”We'll do everything we can,” the doctor assured him. Rage nodded and watched the doctor and his team wheel the twink away.  
  
He wasn't sure why it was difficult to walk away, but it was. Things like this had happened time and time again. Sometimes Rage had made it on time, other times the doctors couldn't help; either way, Rage had done all he could. So why was he having trouble walking away?  
  
Was it because the twink had looked so young? He couldn't possibly have been older than twenty. Or was it how he had looked, struggling even as five adversaries, much bigger and bulkier than him beat down on his frail body? Or was it the shock of blood against pale skin, matting in sun-yellow hair? He wasn't sure, and it didn't matter, not really.  
  
With a huff, Rage forced himself to turn and leave.  
  
There was nothing else he could do.  
  
………………  
  
Brian sat at a booth in Liberty Diner and tentatively sipped at his morning coffee.  
  
“So are you going to tell me what's wrong?” Michael asked as he watched his friend. They'd known each other so long that it was easy for Michael to know when something was disturbing his friend.  
  
”Nothing's wrong,” Brian snapped. “Why would anything be?”  
  
Michael shrugged. To be honest, he had no idea what might be bothering his friend. As far as he knew, everything was working well for Brian at work. Zephyr had found time to prowl the street with Rage every night for the past two weeks, and so far no evil nemesis had turned-up. They'd stopped a few minor attacks with ease. There was nothing that he could think of that could possibly warrant the funk which Brian was currently in.  
  
“How is your husband?” Brian asked with his tongue in his cheek.  
  
Michael rolled his eyes, knowing that Brian was changing the topic but letting it slide. “He's not my husband and stop being an asshole.” Brian rolled his eyes. “We still on for tonight?”  
  
“Not tonight,” Brian said, shaking his head. “Tomorrow, though.” With that, he stood and tossed a few bills on the table before leaning down, kissing Mikey good-bye and heading out of the diner.  
  
“What the fuck is up with him?” Debbie Novotny asked, smacking her gum loudly and filling up her son's cup of coffee.  
  
“I dunno, ma. He's been weird, lately.”  
  
“More so than usual?” She laughed heartily at her own joke and shook her head, patting Michael's cheek fondly. “Don't worry about it, honey. He's a grown man. He'll sort himself out.”  
  
“I know, ma. I just can't help but worry,” he huffed a sigh and stared morosely at the door where Brian had exited. Whenever Brian was in a funk, Mikey never could feel quite happy.  
  
…………………….  
  
The sound played again and again, on repeat in his dreams. And Brian had become a furious dreamer.  
  
Sometimes he would see the twink, watching him take two shaky, staggering steps before the sound of wood cracking against flesh and bone echoed through his mind. Other times he was alone in the darkness, hearing the sickening crack over and over.  
  
He'd dropped by the hospital. Had been dropping by somewhat regularly but only ever at night, to see how the twink was doing. Apparently the kid's mom had found him and ID'ed him. Brian now had a name to attach to the pale angelic face he watched sometimes at night: Justin Taylor. He wasn't more than seventeen, and a glimpse at the kid's medical charts revealed a list of allergies the size of the Oxford Dictionary, up to and including Tylenol. Brian had never met someone who was allergic to Tylenol.  
  
It had been over two weeks and Justin Taylor was still in a coma. And Brian was still unable to focus. He wondered about the kid. About what he'd been doing, walking through the alley by Babylon, alone and not in clubbing attire. Wondering all sorts of futile things and generally distracting himself.  
  
And at night, he'd hear the sound, played over and over. And it didn't matter how many sips of Beam, or tricks he fucked in his regenerative bed, he still heard it, and even if he was physically rested when he woke, Brian felt like he was fraying.  
  
…………………  
  
When Brian entered the Diner he was greeted by Debbie who promptly glomped onto him and squeezing him to within an inch of his life, and then she sniffled and shuffled off to serve another table.  
  
“What the fuck was that about?” Brian asked as he slid into his seat at the booth already occupied by Mikey, and their friends Ted and Emmett.  
  
“It's that kid, you know the one who got bashed a few weeks ago?” Mikey said. Brian scanned the menu and feigned disinterest.  
  
“The one who was rescued by that dark, smoldering stranger we gay boys all know and love, Rage?” Emmett added.  
  
Mikey rolled his eyes and continued. “Apparently he was in a coma since it happened. But he woke-up yesterday. Ma's been visiting him, you know, for solidarity and all?”  
  
“Poking her nose where it doesn't belong?” Brian asked, with a smirk.  
  
“She's been looking after the kid's mother. Apparently, he got kicked out of the house before it happened and it took his mom four days to even figure-out he was missing. But Ma's been speaking with her and plying her with baked goods, they've gotten close.”  
  
Brian nodded vaguely and set the menu aside when Debbie stopped by the table. “I'll have a coffee and a -“  
  
“Yeah, yeah. The usual. Got it,” Debbie said, smiled at everyone again, patted Mikey's cheek and shuffled off to pop the order in.  
  
“Did you hear what our darling Rage did to those bastard bashers?” Emmett asked.  
  
“I heard that he de-manned them,” Ted supplied.  
  
“I heard he turned them homosexual and now they can't get enough, and haven't left the baths in three days,” Emmett countered.  
  
“Oh please,” Mikey said, rolling his eyes. “He made them think they were the homosexuals and they beat each other up.” Everyone at the table looked at Mikey. “What? My source is clearly better than yours,” he huffed. Brian snorted to himself and gladly accepted the coffee Debbie set on the table.  
  
……………….  
  
Justin felt his body tense and he lay very still and kept very quiet, though he couldn't stop his breath from quickening, and cursed to himself when he heard his heart monitor begin to beep faster. He wasn't sure what set him on alert until a moment later, when he heard the sound of his door opening, and then closing slightly. He didn't know how he knew, but he was quite certain that it wasn't one of his doctors, or a nurse, or even his physical therapist who had just entered the room.  
  
That type of thing had been happening a lot, lately. He wondered if it was the attack that had sent his senses on alert, because he'd never known this kind of thing before. Justin didn't remember the attack, but he'd been told that he'd been struck with a baseball bat by a group of homophobes who had caught him walking on Liberty Avenue. According to the nurse who had admitted him that Rage himself had brought Justin in to the hospital. Justin had heard of Rage only through the articles he'd read in the newspaper, and wasn't exactly sure how to feel about being semi-rescued by the superhero. On the one hand, it was exciting, on the other, he didn't remember a damn thing about it, and the superhero hadn't exactly been quick enough to stop it all from happening anyway. Still, he could be satisfied that his attackers were served justice, Justin didn't think that they would have been punished if it weren't for the masked superhero.  
  
Still, not remembering what had happened to him didn't spare him from the after-effects. He'd had a horrible headache that hadn't abated, no matter what drugs were given him (which were limited as it was because of his allergies). His hand was useless, he was defensive, jumpy, panicky, moody and constantly hyper-alert. So he lay in bed, pretending to be asleep even though he knew his act couldn't be convincing with his body as stiff as it was, and his heart beating so quickly, beeping loudly for the intruder to hear.  
  
“I'm not going to hurt you,” a voice said. It was a deep, accented voice that sounded soft and calming even though the newness of it had Justin's stress level rising. “I promise to stay right here, and not move any closer,” the voice coaxed. Justin blinked open his eyes and immediately noticed the stranger.  
  
He was about Justin's height, even though he was much older, and broader. His head was shaved, and his face rounded, with dark eyes the color of chocolate. He wore a grey suit that Justin's artistic knack for spotting details noted was expensive. Justin didn't think that this man would hurt him, but he hadn't been feeling at all rational lately, and even if his senses told him that the man meant no harm, Justin still battled with his rising anxiety, and clutched the little call-button the nurses had given him tightly in his left hand.  
  
“Perhaps you'd feel better if I introduced myself,” the man offered, smiling slightly. “My name is Gardner Vance, and I believe I have a proposition that may interest you.” Justin eyes the man skeptically, his mind running through what he could possibly want, and what he meant, and if he should press the damn button and have done with it. Despite his anxiety, Justin found himself nodding warily.  
  
The man kept his promise and didn't move any closer to the bed, but he did pace to the foot of it, and picked-up Justin's chart, though he didn't read it. “I imagine it's all very confusing, but I'm hoping I might be able to shed some light on things. Perhaps even help, if you will let me.” Justin never took his eyes off the man. He pressed his back firmly against the small headboard of his bed, and concentrated on regulating his breathing so as not to fall into another panic attack. “You seem unwilling to dialogue, so I must guess at a few things,” the man went on. “You have a headache that despite your doctor's best attempts, doesn't diminish with medication. You're sensing things, aware of things that you don't think you should be aware of. I would go so far as to suggest you knew I was coming, didn't you, Mr. Taylor?”  
  
Justin flared his nostrils and gripped tighter on the call button, fighting the urge to press it and simultaneously wondering why the hell he wasn't. A few short breaths and Justin was able to collect himself to ask, “What do you want?”  
  
“I'm recruiting you,” Vance stated simply. “You are wounded, more so than you can possibly know, and something has awakened in you that you have no idea how to control. I am, quite frankly, offering you a job.” Vance picked up a briefcase that Justin hadn't noticed, set it on a table and unsnapped it.  
  
“A job?” Justin choked out, wondering when he had reached the twilight zone.  
  
“I am, according to newspapers and magazines back in Britain, one of the most talented ad executives in the country,” Vance explained, fishing something from his briefcase before turning to smirk at Justin. “I own a company there and looking to purchase something here, in Pittsburgh if all works out well.”  
  
“What does that have to do with me?” Justin asked.  
  
“Every superhero needs a secret identity,” Vance said plainly.  
  
They stayed like that a moment, Vance standing at the foot of Justin's bed, holding the stunned blue gaze of the blond who had pulled his knees to his chest and was pressing back against his bed. The only noise in the room was the rushing beep that monitored Justin's heart rate. “Superhero?” Justin managed after a moment.  
  
“What the newspapers and the magazines do not know is that I train superheroes. It is not a lucrative business, let me assure you, but it is an interesting one. I don't train many, but those I do train are the very best.”  
  
“But what makes you think that I -“  
  
“This,” Vance said cutting Justin off, and before the blond could move, or make a sound, Vance had reached forward and snatched Justin's ankle from under the cover. As soon as skin touched skin, Justin's body went rigid as his mind was flooded with thoughts and emotions and memories that were not his own. Through his panic, Justin watched a memory play in his mind.  
  
In the memory, Vance was seated in what looked to be an office, wearing a strange contraption on his head. Overlaid atop this memory was an image of Justin himself - he watched himself argue with his parents, flee his home, walk down the streets of Liberty, and get attacked. He did not see his rescuer, nor did he witness the justice dealt to his attackers. Somehow Justin knew that Vance was using the contraption to see this image of his own attack. He was also, quite unsettlingly aware of the fact that, if he wanted to, Justin could probe further into Vance's mind and learn all of the man's secrets. The thought terrified him and he recoiled from Vance's thoughts, only realizing he'd also physically recoiled when his body hit the cold floor.  
  
“It's a gift,” Vance said, as Justin gasped for breath and dry-heaved on the floor. “Don't doubt for a moment that it is a gift, even if, right now, it seems a curse. Without control, you will be lost. But I can offer you control.” Already Justin's mind was filling with all sorts of thoughts: sensing the pain of a woman on the fourth floor who was in labor; knowing that the nurse down the hall was not monitoring the nurse's station because she was asleep, having a lurid dream about the patient at the end of the hall. Thoughts and feelings were flooding into his mind, and he wasn't even aware that he was thrashing on the ground, struggling to maintain some grip on his reality, find some part of himself amidst this flood of thought.  
  
“Even now your powers are growing,” Vance spoke. “You need to tell me what your decision is. Come with me, and I will teach you how to become more than what you are. Or remain here, and drown in another's reality?”  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

(1) In order to avoid any confusion, I thought I'd just make a note and say that I refer to Brian as 'Rage' whenever he is in his superhero attire. If he is not dressed as Rage, then he's just 'Brian'. Also, Rage refers to the streets of Liberty as Gayopolis. Hope this doesn't confuse anyone.


	3. Vanguard

Brian stepped back around the corner he had just turned, trying to appear casual as the familiar blond woman made her way down the hallway. He frowned when he noticed that she was crying, and clamped down on a flicker of anxiety. He waited until she had entered an elevator before he rounded the corner and made his way to the room she had just left.  
  
It had been three and a half weeks since Justin Taylor had come out of his coma. Brian knew that he'd been doing quite well in physiotherapy, but still suffered violent outbursts and bad headaches, and bad dreams. He knew this because he dropped in occasionally to watch the blond as he slept, and the night nurses, thinking he was a friend or a relative - with only a little coaxing on Brian's part - shared information with him.  
  
He wasn't sure what it was about the kid, but Brian felt oddly connected to the twink, and protective of him as well.  
  
He stopped when he reached the window of the familiar room, and looked in, eyes immediately spotting the lean figure that lay on the bed. As was usual, Justin Taylor's sleep was not peaceful. Brian frowned as the twink's body jerked and twitched.  
  
“He was tossing the ball today,” the night nurse offered, nodding her head towards Justin's room when Brian looked at her. “He's making remarkable improvement.” She smiled broadly and continued on her rounds. Brian turned back to the window and watched as Justin seemed to calm in his sleep, laying peacefully beneath the thin hospital sheets.  
  
He stayed there at the window, like a useless sentinel, warding off bad dreams and monsters, until his eyes flickered to the clock in Justin's room, and a glimpse of the time reminded him that he was supposed to meet Michael. Brian flicked his eyes back towards the blonde's face, and froze on the spot when blue eyes opened suddenly and met his gaze directly.  
  
Brian felt his world closing in, felt his entire self being lost in those eyes and, most disturbingly, felt absolutely no struggle within himself to stop getting lost there. Every part of him was awakening under that intense gaze, and every part of him felt a bizarre certainty that this was right. And that frightened him more than anything. He stepped back and then managed to turn away from the gaze, though walking away more difficult than anything he'd done before.  
  
………………  
  
Brian waited three days before he returned to the hospital. It was enough time to clear his head of disturbing memories of the blond and those blue eyes, and dismiss the connection they seemed to have made. He walks through the hallway, feet moving on automatic, knowing the path because he's walked it before.  
  
He ends-up at the window to the familiar room, only the person lying on the bed isn't who he expected to see. Instead of the lean, blonde figure, fast asleep and dreaming fitfully, there is a short, rotund man propped up on the bed and picking at his teeth rather unattractively. Brian turns away from the window and frowns. “He's been discharged,” a passing night nurse says with a pitying smile. “Hadn't you been told?” Brian looked back at her blankly and she paused in her rounds. “Just yesterday. He was making such progress with his physiotherapy that he was released. Of course, he still needs to continue the exercises, and he's still on meds, and he's supposed to be going to regular appointments with a physiotherapist about that hand, but from the sounds of it, he won't be doing that with us.”  
  
Brian looked up sharply at that. “What do you mean?”  
  
The nurse shrugged. “Jennifer Taylor, that's his mother, made a request for recommendations for physiotherapists situated over in England. Apparently, he's going to be staying over there, with a friend of the family.” When Brian didn't ask anything more, the nurse returned to her rounds. He watched her shuffle from door to door, peering into the windows, checking charts, and making notes.  
  
Then he turned on his heel and left the hospital.  
  
………………….  
  
Justin sat in a plush leather chair in the middle of an elaborate office: wood paneling, shelves of books, large ornately carved desk. Oddly, Justin felt quite comfortable in the place. He shifted in his chair, tilting his head back so he could admire the mural on the ceiling: birds in flight with a backdrop of sunny skies. The artwork was detailed and brightly colored, but didn't seem to fit with the black and white photographs that were artistically framed and hung along the walls.  
  
The door opened abruptly but it didn't startle Justin, who continued to analyze the mural. He listened as papers rustled and the sound of cloth ghosting against leather, followed by a patient silence. Justin let the silence reign for a moment before he took his eyes from the ceiling and looked directly at the man now situated behind the desk.  
  
He'd grown fond of Gardner Vance; the man was more like a father to Justin than his real father ever was. Ever since Justin made his decision to go with the man, Vance had visited him regularly in hospital teaching him techniques on coping. It had become increasingly difficult for Justin to focus, Vance had explained that this was to be expected, that his new gift was establishing itself and he just needed to be patient. Justin had needed to be a lot more than patient. The pain of his 'gift' establishing itself had been quite intense; even with Vance's techniques, and it had been a complete relief to get on the private jet that had taken him over seas, and even more lovely to reach the large country manor where he would be staying.  
  
“The results echo my suspicions,” Vance began. “Your abilities are quite extensive.” This was surprisingly shocking to Justin. He had no idea what to expect when it came to the changes in his life since the bashing, but Vance had always seemed quite certain about what was normal and what to expect. It was amazingly comforting for Justin, who felt like his entire world was spinning out of his control, to have Vance there calmly telling him that everything was absolutely normal, given the situation. To hear, now, that Justin's capabilities were startlingly to the man who, up to this point, had been completely blaze about the entire thing, was unsettling to say the least. “There is some concern about the medications you're taking?”  
  
“I stopped the hospital's prescriptions,” Justin admitted.  
  
“Ronald mentioned that there were side-effects?” Vance asked.  
  
“Nausea,” Justin admitted. “Dizziness, they made me feel even more tense and nervous and increased the headaches. He recommended stopping them altogether.” Upon his arrival at the manor, Justin had not only been given a tour of the elaborate grounds and shown to his chambers, but he'd also met a team of people dedicated to helping him. There were several other 'superheroes in training' that Vance was looking after, but each of them had their own team. Because of his situation, Justin's team was slightly larger than the others. Along with a personal trainer and fighting instructor, Justin had a doctor and physiotherapist, and he seemed to have captured Vance's interest, because over the few weeks he had been with the man, Vance had always taken the time to speak with him and check into how things were. They'd developed, in such a short time, the sort of relationship Justin had always wanted with his father, and Vance seemed happy to accept the role of father figure for his latest charge.  
  
“The medication that Ron designed specifically?” Vance asked with some concern.  
  
“Is becoming less effective,” Justin admitted.  
  
“We'll step-up your training,” Vance suggested. “I'll see if something stronger can be made.” Justin nodded and sighed. Everything was so interesting about this place, and everything he'd learned was incredible, but it was hard work, and exhausting. Everything was made doubly hard because Justin was still not accustomed to being around too many people. He had no memory of what had happened to him, but that didn't stop him from reacting badly to certain things. He was learning, with Vance's help, to separate himself from things.  
  
One of his latest discussions with Vance had been about the difference between the secret identity and the superhero. Justin had taken his lesson a step further. He'd begun to concentrate very hard before each of his lessons, to screen-out certain things, certain memories, and focus strongly on the task he was doing. As a result, when he slipped into what he had lately started to think of as 'superhero mode', he was a stronger, more focused version of himself. Stronger, because he shut away any thoughts of his bashing, and focused, because it took a lot of work to forget about what had happened.  
  
“What did you come-up with for the campaign?” Vance asked, changing the topic. Part of the deal had been that Vance would train him and teach him everything he needed to know, and Justin would work in Vance's company. Vance had seen his work at one of the small showings at his school, and as Justin steadily regained the use of his hand, Vance gave him more and more work within the company to get him used to it.  
  
They sat in the large office discussing the various ads Vance had given Justin to work on. It was easy conversation as they exchanged ideas. Justin wasn't able to actually begin the artwork on any of the ads because his hand tired easily, but it was improving, and Vance had learned that Justin was quick-witted and quite good at coming up with new ideas.  
  
They talked about a wide variety of things before Justin had to excuse himself because he was due for a lesson. The days were comfortable to Justin in their order. He knew everyone who was in the manor and they all knew to take it easy with him. Unless Justin was in one of his classes, he tended to keep to himself entirely, socializing only with Vance, and that was fine with Justin. There were, of course, his regular phone calls to his mother, who had been very reluctant to let Justin go, and in face, had only agreed because Vance had done a good job at convincing her. She had no idea what he was doing. He'd told her only that Vance had offered him an internship with his company and that, if things went well, he'd have a job. All of that wasn't a lie because Vance had promised him a job in the art department of the company as soon as Justin was ready. The pay was amazing, and Vance had agreed to work the hours around Justin's course schedule, since Justin intended to go to art school. That had been one of the reasons for the argument between himself and his parents - one of the last things that Justin remembered before waking up in the hospital.  
  
“Justin!” a voice cried, and Justin turned around to see Daphne Chanders, the only other occupant of the manor that was his age. Except, unlike him, she wasn't there because of special powers; she was there because she was amazingly talented when it came to computers. It had been she who had tracked Justin down when Vance had used the machine to find him. Justin had since learned that the machine was used to locate other people, like him, who were coming into their powers. Vance didn't use it often, and it was quite taxing on the man's system, but Justin was grateful that it had located him, because he wasn't sure if he could possibly have coped without Vance and the others.  
  
“What do you think you're doing?” Daphne demanded once she'd caught-up to him. Rebecca has been waiting for you down in the training room for almost twenty minutes, and you know how she gets when she's kept waiting.” Rebecca was one of Justin's fighting instructors. “Anyway, I have that information you wanted me to get,” she grinned broadly and waved a thick envelope in front of his face, but snatched it back when he moved to take it. “Nuh uh! Not until you be a good little superhero and do your training. Then you can read about the mysterious hunk in purple.”  
  
“You're a freak,” Justin said, smiling and shaking his head. Besides Vance, Daphne was the only other person Justin could tolerate. Conversation was easy between them, and she never pushed him about anything.  
  
“Takes one to know one,” she replied maturely, and then stuck her tongue out.  
  
“Ew, so not interested,” Justin said, cringing at the sight of her tongue, and they laughed. It felt as if he hadn't laughed like than in ages, and maybe that was true. Either way, Justin fully intended to make the best out of this crazy situation, and Daphne and Vance and everyone else were all making that a lot easier than he'd imagined.  
  
“You don't know what you're missing,” Daphne teased. She liked flirting with Justin, mostly because the blond always blushed and reacted sweetly. She knew he was gay, and mourned the loss of another hotty. She was steadily becoming firmly convinced that all hot men were gay. Still, that didn't get in the way of their friendship, and she'd taken Justin under her wing, feeling oddly protective of him. Justin didn't have to be at the manor very long before he and Daphne were inseparable.  
  
“I'll race you to the Devil's dungeon!” Justin said and started sprinting, Daphne laughing and running to catch up. Rebecca was a taskmaster, and usually quite irritable, genes the name Devil, as well as several others that were less polite. Still, she was quite skilled and an effective teacher.  
  
“Bastard!” Daphne shouted as Justin disappeared around the corner far ahead of her. “I need to start working out more,” she huffed to herself.  
  
\----------------------------  
Two years later …  
\----------------------------  
  
Brian stepped into the boardroom to find Marty Ryder firmly shaking the hand of a short, bald, British man. Both men seemed happy, and Brian took a breath, trying to brace himself to hear whatever news had previously been withheld from him. “Brian!” Ryder said, smiling happily. “This is Gardner Vance.”  
  
“Brian Kinney,” Gardner said, shaking Brian's offered hand. “Marty tells me you're the engine that drives the company.”  
  
”That would be me,” Brian answered honestly. He had already heard from Ryder about the sale. He'd been angry about it, because he'd been about to make partner and instead wound-up fighting for his job under a new boss. Still, Brian refused to rollover and give-up. “I'm the thrust behind this company,” he said, tongue in cheek.  
  
Vance quirked an eyebrow and looked at Brian appraisingly while Marty shuffled the papers on the desk. “Mr. Vance has just signed the last of the papers, Brian. Which means, I'm off to the friendly Caribbean to work on my tan.” Marty shook Vance's hand and exchanged a few words, and then repeated the process with Brian. “He's short, but mighty,” Ryder whispered quietly to Brian, causing Brian to have to bite-back a snort. “Good luck, gentlemen.” And just that easily Marty Ryder left the firm he'd built up from nothing.  
  
“I understand you were about to make partner in this firm before the deal,” Vance said, sitting down at one of the boardroom chairs.  
  
“That was the original plan,” Brian admitted. He took a seat at the table.  
  
Vance continued to look at him for a moment, dark eyes surveying Brian and seeming to see through him. “I like to be direct with my employees,” Vance said after a moment. “While I'm very impressed with the client list here, I am not impressed with some of the employees. You must be aware that I've already let some people go.” Brain was, in fact, very aware. He'd heard that some of the people in the art department were packing up and, to be honest, Brian's respect for his new boss had risen because those employees had been complete idiots. “I've seen your work and I agree with Marty, you have skills, so I'll make a deal with you.” Vance paused long enough to make sure he had Brian's full attention. “Make me believe that you're worth keeping on in this company, and I won't fire you like I did with the others.”  
  
……………  
  
Brian left the boardroom and he was seething. On the one hand, he probably would have done exactly the same thing if he had been in Gardner Vance's position. On the other, Brian had been about to make partner and suddenly this jackass comes in and threatens to throw him out of his job. He was the fucking heart of this company! With a huff, Brian returned to his office and buzzed for Cynthia.  
  
Cynthia was his assistant, and was pretty much the only person who could tolerate Brian's attitude and manage it appropriately. At work, Brian had no tolerance for idiots and fuck-ups. In that way, he supposed he was quite similar to Vance, except Brian didn't want to think about that bastard because he was still fuming about the ultimatum he'd been given.  
  
“You called, boss?” Cynthia asked as she popped her head into his office.  
  
“Find anything and everything you can on Gardner Vance.” Cynthia nodded her head and headed out.  
  
……………..  
  
It didn't take Brian long to find a way to prove his worth to Gardner Vance. The man had been lusting after the Brown Athletics campaign for fucking ever and Brian fully intended to bag it. Most days he was in his office brainstorming ideas for the ad and how best to get a meeting with the head of the Brown Athletics company when they were not looking for new representation.  
  
Around him, Brian was only vaguely aware of the thinning numbers of employees, slowly being replaced by new faces. He was focused solely on this campaign that would make or break his career at this company. He had been giving one week to prove his merit, and he'd already used four of those seven days. He had finalized the idea for the campaign and was busy thinking over his presentation of it when Cynthia knocked on his office door.  
  
“Did you hear?” she asked as he told her to come in. “Vance just fired Brisko!”  
  
For a moment, Brian was shocked. Daniel Brisko was the head of the art department at Ryder; but the company wasn't Ryder anymore, it was Vance. As much as Brian had been driven insane by the art department, Brisko had been one of the few with some talent. “What the fuck happened?” he asked. It was becoming clear to him that talent and dependability wasn't the only recommendation needed to stay in the company, otherwise it seemed certain Brisko would have stayed.  
  
“Vance is bringing over the head of his art department from his company in England. He said that he'd be happy to keep on Brisko but not as head. So Brisko quit.” That was reasonable, that Brisko wouldn't accept being demoted. It made him wonder who the hell Vance's art director was that it warranted firing such a composed and attentive man. “Anyway, I set up your flight and everything's ready.” She handed over the tickets and he accepted them, setting them on his desk and returning to his computer. “You'll nail it, you know,” Cynthia said as she paused in the doorway.  
  
“I always do,” Brian said with a smirk. Cynthia rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her.  
  
………………..  
  
True to form, when Brian returned to Pittsburgh he brought back with him signed forms from Brown Athletics. They had signed for quite s pretty penny, with a few stipulations, one of them being that Brian was made partner in the firm. He celebrated in true Kinney style, dancing and tricking the night away at Babylon. It was another advantage of his regenerative bed - that it even cured hangovers.  
  
He strutted through the office the next day and knocked on Vance's door, which opened a moment later and a young blond man stepped out. “Excuse me,” the blond said in a quiet voice, and Brian stepped aside, trying to catch a glimpsed of the other man's face because his head was down as he flipped through some files.  
  
“Brian,” a surprisingly good-humored Vance called from inside the office. Brian watched the blond walk down the hallway, head still in the files he held, and caught a view of a rather unbelievable ass before he turned and headed into the office.  
  
For a moment, inside, Brian's head was spinning because he was certain there was something about the man that was familiar, but he couldn't exactly place it and he wondered if it was just that the man had been one of his tricks. “Our latest account,” Brian said placing the file down on Vance's desk. Vance didn't even look down at it, simply gave as much of a smile as he ever seemed to give and nodded his head.  
  
“Congratulations,” he said, and offered his hand. “I'll look it over.” Brian shook the offered hand, his mind already elsewhere.  
  
Brian wasn't seated in his office three minutes when Cynthia said there was someone to see him. He hadn't yet gotten in to any of his work so, reluctantly, he told her to send them in. Brian didn't really socialize at work, and when someone came to his office it was usually to inform him they'd screwed-up one of his ads. Today, however, was an exception, because as soon as the door opened the blond from Vance's office stepped through looking only the slightest bit uncertain until his eyes landed on Brian, and then he flashed the biggest smile, and Brian was certain the whole fucking room lit up.  
  
“Hi,” the blond said, shutting the door before crossing to Brian's desk and offering a hand, which Brian accepted. The handshake was firm, the hand was soft, and Brian was fairly disturbed to feel a jolt of electricity rush through his system. “I just wanted to come over and introduce myself,” the blond went on, but suddenly Brian's vision was tunneling and all he could focus on was the face that was before him. A familiar face. And he knew that he didn't need to wait to hear the name to know who, by a strange turn of events, had ended-up at his office. “I'm the new head of the art department, Justin Taylor.”  
  
What the hell was the kid, nineteen? And he was the head of the art department? Wasn't he in school? How had he recovered? Clearly his hand had to be working well for him, but he'd heard the grim diagnosis that the kid wouldn't ever draw again. What had he been doing for the two years since he'd last seen him?  
  
Brian's mind was flooding with thoughts, and it took him a moment before he could remember to introduce himself.  
  
………………  
  
Justin's entire body was shaking as he closed the door to Brian Kinney's office and headed down the hall. He wasn't sure what had disturbed him, but something had because he could barely catch his breath. His thoughts were racing, his heartbeat was echoing through his ears and his entire body felt simultaneously incredibly hot and incredibly cold. But what the hell was wrong?  
  
Was it the handshake? Touching Brian Kinney had been like grasping into a bolt of lightning. He'd had to force his shields up around his mind and he'd become incredibly aware and aroused by the other man. Not that he hadn't been already, because the man was bloody attractive. But then there had been something, looking at the man as he stood before him, which had made Justin's breath congeal in his throat.  
  
“Hey, Justin,” Daphne said as he walked towards his office. “I've got the -“ but Justin walked by her in a daze and opened the door to his office.  
  
“Just leave it for a minute, alright?” he requested quietly before he shut his door. He was still shaking as he collapsed into the chair in his office. Who the fuck was Brian Kinney? And why the hell did Justin feel he'd seen him before?


	4. The Trouble With Twinks

Debbie Novotny grunted as she kicked the back door of the diner open and shuffled the bags of garbage towards the bin. It was relatively early in the afternoon, just after a change of shifts and Kiki was late, which meant Debbie was on her own, hauling the trash out and managing the tables of the few people who'd come for a late lunch.  
  
She shuffled down the short alley maneuvering the bags as she went, and then dropped them by the tall green garbage bin. She had to stand on tiptoe to throw back the damn lid, and then she stooped to pick up the first bag, hefting it up and then tossing it over the rim of the bin. The movement directed her gaze inside the bin and she thought she caught sight of denim jeans.  
  
Back on tiptoe, she gripped the edge of the garbage bin and peered over the edge. “Holy shit!” she cried, stumbling back from the bin, her hands rising to her mouth and her eyes beginning to water. She tried to get a grip on herself, to remember what it was she was supposed to do in a situation like this. Then she turned on her heel and bolted back into the diner.  
  
…………………  
  
The file landed with a smack onto Justin's worktable. He huffed in irritation and turned to face Daphne, who was looking at him expectantly. “Do you mind?” he asked. He was in the middle of designing the ad for Eyeconics, a campaign he was working on with Brian and he really didn't want to mess it up because, for whatever reason, he wanted to impress the man.  
  
“That's another one,” Daphne said, her tone serious. “He was found in the dumpster by the Liberty Diner by a waitress there.”  
  
“Christ, Daphne. At least shut the fucking door!” he hissed, and she rolled her eyes, turning and closing it before she walked back and placed her hands on her hips. “What?” he asked.  
  
“What are you going to do about it?” she demanded to know.  
  
“I don't know,” he huffed. “I'm working.”  
  
“Well, the police are doing jack-squat!” she said. “They're going around calling this kid 'Dumpster Boy' because they can't expend the effort to find out his name!”  
  
“How do you know that?” he asked.  
  
“I hacked into their system,” she said, affronted that he would expect any less. “What do you take me for?”  
  
“Look. Work is kind of crazy right now. Vance has me handling a lot of the campaigns while he gets used to the art department, and Kinney is demanding as hell. I'm looking into it, though. You know I'm looking into it.” Which she did, of course, because they shared a small apartment, and she'd seen Justin trying to find something, anything, that could give him a lead in the case. She nodded her head and moved to take the file but Justin caught her wrist. “Leave it,” he asked.  
  
“Okay,” she said, and smiled before she turned and left his office.  
  
………………..  
  
Brian looked up when the door open, already knowing who it would be because Cynthia had told him. He had become used to seeing Justin Taylor, had grown to enjoy the blonde's company. For all the time he'd spent outside the twink's hospital room watching him sleep, or sitting in his office wondering what the kid had been doing down on Liberty when it was clear he wasn't clubbing - drawn to the blond by some force Brian refused to name - he'd never really got around to imagining the blonde's personality, or anything about him beside the facts of his life that had led up to him stumbling into Brian's life.  
  
Now that Justin had returned to the Pitts and into Brian's own office, they saw each other regularly, and whatever had been drawing Brian back to the comatose blonde's side those nights in the hospital seemed to be magnified. Now Brian knew Justin. Knew how he'd smile that way that lit up the entire office when something pleased him, had grown to enjoy the kid's wit and attitude, had gotten used to seeing him around - alive and well.  
  
“Hey,” Justin greeted as he poked his head into Brian's office. “I have the ad for Eyeconics. Is this a good time?” Instead of answering, Brian stood up and reached his hand out for the ad.  
  
One thing he could say with absolute sincerity was that he wholeheartedly approved of Vance's reappointments within the art department. Even Brisko, who'd Brian had felt ambivalent about seeing leave because he was the only person within the department who ever actually met the deadlines and did work that was passable. Vance had gone to town on the art department, though, and Brian had absolutely no complaints. It was so much easier, now. He was partner in the firm; he handled some of the biggest accounts and he'd begun to take it for granted that the art department would actually understand what he meant when he expressed his idea, that they'd actually be on time and not fuck up.  
  
“I wanted to talk to you about the overall look of it,” Justin said as he propped the board up on Brian's desk. He'd done exactly what Brian had requested, and it always amazed Brian that the kid could so easily catch on to the image in his head, interpret it and put it out on paper without even the slightest difference between the ad and the image that had appeared in Brian's head - with the exception of improvements which Justin sometimes took the liberty of making, but only when he'd run it by Brian and defended his reasons for the change. So far, Brian had never had to disagree with one of Justin's ideas. “You said blue, and that's what I did for the font, but I thought we might spice the whole thing up a bit more. Make it more daring, more eye-catching.” Without any more comment, Justin held up a second board. It displayed the same basic idea that Brian had expressed, except the writing was orange, which made the text pop-out nicely as it complimented with the blue of the ocean behind the model. The model himself was in almost the same position as in the first ad, except his head was tilted just the slightest bit more, and there was a hint of a naughty smile playing on his lips. It was hot, and brilliant, and Brian could see that Justin was damn pleased with it.  
  
“We've done surveys,” Brian said. “Of thousands of people, from varying age groups, and the overwhelming conclusion was that blue was the way to go.” He kept his face serious and his eyes hard. It never ceased to amuse him how Justin would defend his ideas, half disappointed that they were never accepted with full-out accolades, and partly affronted that no one could see what he could in his work.  
  
“Well, those polls were hardly accurate. It's the overwhelming consensus among college students that orange is the new blue,” Justin said, his voice filled with stubborn certainty.  
  
“Your peer group,” Brian said, in a mock sneering tone.  
  
“Which means that I'm in an ideal position to know,” Justin shot back. This was a tradition; already well established in the short time they had been working together. Justin knew that Brian wasn't going to shower him with praise or gush over his ideas; and Brian knew Justin could give as good as he got, and had never produced an ad that hadn't been spectacularly effective. “Since the ad is targeting my age group,” Justin continued, emphasizing the last portion of his sentence. “I thought I might suggest something that would be more appealing.”  
  
”Orange,” Brian said thoughtfully after a moment of silence, pretending to think this all over.  
  
“I know colour, Mr. Kinney,” Justin said, trying to keep the smirk from his face, already knowing he'd won - again.  
  
“It's not bad,” Brian said, sounding grudging. “Alright, the changes stay. Have that mounted on black foam core -“  
  
“I know,” Justin said, cutting Brian off with a smile. “Your usual requirements.” When Justin turned on his heel, there was a bounce in his step and he swished his hips a bit more than usual, grinning as he left the office. For his part, Brian pretended not to notice. Not that he was really fooling anyone.  
  
…………………  
  
It was nearing the end of his first month back in Pittsburgh and Justin had become restless. Daphne said it was because he was back in the place where it all began for him, and since he'd never dealt with the attack, he was having a harder time adjusting than he might have. Justin dismissed this, however. It seemed far more likely that it was due to the stress and activity. Ever since he'd landed back in Pittsburgh Justin had been busy, at first with moving into his and Daphne's place and with work, and then with his other occupation as the darkly clad superhero who Daphne had dubbed 'JT. Already the queers of Liberty were whispering fondly about their new 'Secret Avenger'. And then there was Justin's own project having to do with Liberty's other mysterious superhero who had saved him.  
  
More important than anything now, was the series of murders happening: bodies of young boys turning up in trashcans and dumpsters, all of them under twenty, all of them twinks, all of them strangled. And that was why Justin was restless, because no matter how much time he spent investigating into the murders, Justin had no idea where to begin. Or he did, but Vance and Daphne both had shot his suggestion down and had been watching him like a hawk ever since he proposed it. He figured he'd give it another week, and if he still had nothing, then their worry didn't matter, he had to do what he had to do.  
  
As it was, Justin was at Vanguard working late. He'd finished the ad an hour ago and now sat with the files Daphne had collected for him regarding the five twinks who had turned up dead in dumpsters. As far as Justin could determine, there was absolutely no link between the murdered twinks except that they were all young and blond and gay. One of them, Jason Kemp, had been a hustler, while another, Matthew Richmond, had been a rich pretty boy. They didn't share a particular hangout place beyond the fact that they frequented Liberty.  
  
With a sigh, Justin looked up at the clock and cursed under his breath. It was nearly midnight. He hadn't meant to work so late. Quickly, Justin got together his files and work things and put them into his messenger bag, putting on his coat and wrapping his blue scarf around his neck before he headed out of his office and to the elevators.  
  
It was a cool night and Justin spared a moment to mourn the fact that he hadn't worn gloves to work. Resigning himself, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed towards the bus stop. It was dark, the moon only a small sliver in the black sky, and that streetlamps were a faded orange glow that left shadows between them. Due to the hour, the street was void of pedestrians and cars were not passing so frequently. What was usually a bustling hub during daylight hours was practically void of life in the evening.  
  
And Justin knew with absolute certainty that this night had trouble written all over it.  
  
He kept his pace steady as he walked down the street, knowing without having to see, that three men were following him. He wasn't sure of their intentions, though it was clear that they were not well-meaning; to Justin, what they wanted didn't matter, either way, he didn't intend to comply.  
  
At that point between streetlamps when the darkness was thicker, the men pushed forward and forcibly spun Justin around. “Give me your wallet, your bag and your watch,” one man demanded. “And maybe we'll leave you the use of your limbs.” Justin quirked an eyebrow, unfazed by the threat. He watched as two of the men withdrew their switchblades, and he could see the gun that the man who had spoken, apparently the leader, had barely concealed in his coat.  
  
Justin was about to open his mouth and let the games begin when one of the other men turned to the leader, pressing the switchblade to the side of his throat. “Give me your wallet,” he said.  
  
“Fuck you,” said the man with the gun. “Give me yours!” Justin watched as they argued, and then began to brawl. He took several steps back and, hands on hips, turned to face the man he knew would be standing casually behind him. Justin was a little peeved that he came face to face with the man's chin, but he was fired-up anyway and wouldn't let his smaller stature stop him.  
  
“I could have taken care of it,” he huffed. “I'm not some weak-ass little faggot,” he huffed. Rage seemed to eye him with amusement. “You pulled that trick before, anyway. Is that how you always deal with shit-disturbers?”  
  
“You're welcome,” Rage replied, and his tone seemed both amused and exasperated.  
  
”I didn't say 'thank-you',” Justin pointed out. “I'm not going to say 'thank-you'. I had it under control.”  
  
“You had three thugs twice your size, armed thugs, one of which had a gun aimed at your pretty blond head,” Rage replied, his tone sounding bored now.  
  
“You think my head is pretty?” Justin said, teasing the superhero. The man actually appeared flustered. “I can brag to the boys of Liberty that Rage was checking me out while he was saving my ass,” Justin continued to tease.  
  
”Next time, I'll let you handle it,” Rage replied, turning and moving away.  
  
“I've been looking for you,” Justin called after the man, and watched as Rage stopped walking. “This isn't the first time you've stepped between me and a gang.”  
  
“Were you going to tell me you had it under control then, too?” Rage asked.  
  
“No,” Justin admitted. “Then I could have used the help.”  
  
“So what the fuck were you looking for me for?” Rage asked, finally turning around.  
  
“Well, shit,” Justin said, just to be difficult. “If you're going to be a prick about it, forget I said anything!”  
  
Rage actually huffed, and walked back to stand by Justin. “What?” he asked, but his tone was softer. Somehow Justin knew not to expect an apology.  
  
“I just wanted to say that it was appreciated, is all,” Justin said. “What you did, I mean.” Rage quirked his lips in a half-smirk, half-smile. Justin, feeling bold, took a step towards the man.  
  
“You know,” he hedged. “in 'Spiderman', when he saves the girl the second time, she gets a kiss,” Justin said, smirking back at Rage. Justin's body was practically thrumming as he stood there, looking at the masked man. Rage radiated such strong sexual energy mixed with confidence, added to the fact that Justin was, for the first time, standing near someone who's emotions and thoughts were not being broadcast into his head, and also Justin thought that memories were flickering through his mind, of the last time they had met. He was feeling just the slightest bit overwhelmed, and unsteady, and simply vulnerable, and it seemed, maybe, that Rage could keep him safe as easily as he could sweep Justin off his feet. Justin had always loved flirting with danger.  
  
“I seem to recall,” Rage said, his voice husky and low. “That she was the one who kissed him.” He quirked an eyebrow in challenge, a move which was accentuated by the fact that the black mask ended just beneath the brow.  
  
Justin was aware that their breath had picked up, and that they had moved closer together. He was also keenly aware of what he wanted and also, that he fully intended to take it. It wasn't like the mysterious superhero was fighting him.  
  
“A technicality,” Justin said, and then their lips brushed against each other lightly, fleeting. As Justin tried to gasp in oxygen, recovering from the shocks that had raced through his body at that mere contact, he felt Rage's arms come around him, one wrapping around his waist and the other tangling in the hairs at the back of his head, pressing Justin's smaller form harshly against the larger body, and Justin felt Rage's tongue pushing into his mouth.  
  
It felt like he was being devoured, and that he was devouring. He lost track of everything until it seemed as if they'd been kissing for eternity and for seconds. Everything melted together until nothing existed except them, entwined on the cool damp street. A calmness washed over Justin's mind and for the first time since the bashing, everything quieted. He was vaguely aware that his fingertips had slipped through the tear in Rage's attire and were rubbing against the firm chest, and his other hand was clutching almost desperately around the back of the taller man's neck. It was complete surrender, and for once, Justin was not afraid of it, felt as though he could trust the taller man.  
  
They parted when their need for breath could no longer be ignored. Justin felt as if the entire earth had shifted beneath his feet. He stood there, breathing raggedly with his eyes closed, only vaguely aware that Rage had not moved away, had in fact stayed quite close. Justin could feel the superhero's breath ghosting against his cheek, and he finally managed to open his eyes and regain control of himself. He could hear the sound of the bus, breaks squeaking as it headed towards the stop.  
  
“So,” Justin said, his voice gaining a husky timbre as a result of their kiss. “What I wanted to say was,” another breath, his eyes finally focussing. “Thank-you,” Justin said, and made himself step back from the taller man.  
  
As he turned on his heel and jogged over to the stop, Justin was smiling to himself. The kiss might have been earth shattering to him, but he'd certainly managed to rock the superhero's world. A part of him felt free, having faced the man who had saved him two years ago. Knowing for certain that such a man existed, it almost validated everything Justin himself had gone through, both with his own gifts, and the fleeting memories that sometimes plagued him at night. As if seeing Rage once more allowed him to finally process that everything he'd been told about his accident was real -- and that was unbelievably and quite surprisingly liberating.  
  
………………..  
  
Brian found himself glancing once more at the blond as he adjusted the boards. He was reading over the notes he made regarding the pitch he was about to make regarding the Eyeconics ad that he and Justin had been working on. The blond himself was setting up the boards, having shooed the fumbling intern out of the room.  
  
Brian was usually quite focussed before giving a pitch, but today, his eyes kept being drawn away from his notes and towards the lithe body of the blond. The memory of their kiss was burning through his thoughts. Justin had felt so unbelievably right, pressed close to his chest, mouth open and wanting. Brian had never before experienced a reaction such as the one he'd had to the blond art director when they had kissed. Kissed! What the hell would happen if they fucked?  
  
Oh, that was a thought.  
  
Now Brian couldn't get the image of Justin sprawled on Brian's regenerative bed in the loft. Or perhaps his desk in the office? Or hell, why not the boardroom table, right here, right now? He could imagine the blonde's short staccato gasps for air, like he'd taken last night after they had broken apart. That Justin would use his legs to hold Brian close, would sigh, as he'd done last night, when Brian ran his tongue from just behind Justin's ear, down his neck, and skimmed his teeth along a pale shoulder. That, when Brian dipped his hand beneath those charcoal grey slacks the blond was wearing, he'd moan and arch up and grab -  
  
“Are you all right?” Vance asked, concerned, as he leaned close to Brian trying to be subtle.  
  
“What?” Brian asked, jolted from his fantasy. “Yeah, fine. We ready to start?”  
  
Vance frowned at him curiously, then glanced at Justin, who merely quirked an eyebrow. The art director was already seated at the table, and Vance nodded his head. “Yes, we're just about ready.” And then Cynthia had been opening the door and introducing the woman representing Eyeconics, and Brian didn't have the luxury of daydreaming. Though it was very hard for him to remain completely focussed on business, especially with Justin sitting right there. Brian didn't have the luxury of not knowing who he'd kissed the other night - he envied the damn blond.  
  
………………….  
  
It was a stupid thing for him to do, but he hadn't thought about it at the time. If he'd thought about it, Justin would have decided that it would be best if he stayed at work a bit later and got a ride home with Vance. Except that part of the problem was he was never thinking clearly at times like this, and that's what the problem always was.  
  
So he left Vanguard at four o'clock, happy to have a short day, and made it to the bus and as soon as he claimed his seat, he realized what a tremendously stupid thing he'd just done, but it was already too late.  
  
It was because of the attack. It had brought back memories of another gang that had cornered him. And it was because of the kiss, because that had been a mind-blowing experience in itself. And Justin knew he'd been feeling out-of-sorts all day, but he thought doubling his dose of pills would take care of it. Obviously it hadn't, because as soon as he'd claimed his seat on the bus, he knew he was fighting to maintain his mental shields. And he could feel that he was losing the battle.  
  
So, naturally, seated as he was, walled-in by people and trying with all his might to keep everyone and their thoughts and dirty secrets from spilling into his mind, he began to have a panic attack, and hyperventilating, and pretty soon, he was blacking out. He didn't even feel it as his body landed hard against the rubber floor of the bus.  
  
………………..  
  
Brian was sitting in a meeting with Vance. They were going over the company and discussing what was working and what wasn't, and what could be done about it. It was one of those things that went along with being partner that Brian wasn't fussy about. Still, Brian had grown to enjoy Vance and they'd established a sort of camaraderie so the meeting wasn't too painful.  
  
They were almost half-way through a general review of the staff when there was a hasty knock on the door, and before Vance could beckon the person in, the door was opening and a young woman with cocoa skin and hair knotted in a complicated and wacky style was stumbling into the office looking frantic. “Vance,” she said, and Brian could tell she'd run a distance.  
  
“Daphne, if you could wait until Brian and I -“ but he was cut off as she waved her hands in a rather childish gesture for silence.  
  
“It's Justin!” she said, gaining not only Vance's full attention, but Brian's as well.  
  
“One moment,” Vance said hastily and immediately rose from his chair at the table and walked over to Daphne, he motioned her toward the doorway and Brian, eager to hear more, shamelessly placed the subtle thought in Vance's mind that he really didn't have to leave the room at all. “What is it?” Vance asked in a quiet voice from where he stood near the doorway.  
  
Daphne cast a flustered look between Vance and Brian before answered. “I got a call from the hospital, they said something happened when he was on the bus. They wouldn't divulge anything over the phone, they wanted us to come down, but I don't know all of his allergies and I didn't want to-“  
  
“Yes, of course,” Vance said. “Just a moment,” he told her. “Brian,” he said, turning around and speaking loudly. “If you'd be so good as to excuse me, something has come up that I must see to directly.” Brian nodded his head, wondering what had happened to Justin, and what the relationship between Gardner Vance, Justin Taylor, and this girl?


	5. The Secret Avenger

“Oh, for god's sake!” Justin cried when he stepped out of his apartment the following day to see Vance sitting in the back of a sleek black car, holding the door open and regarding him expectantly. “This is really unnecessary!” he snapped as he slipped into the car. “At least wait for Daphne!” he said when Vance closed the door.  
  
“I don't want to make it look like I'm favouring anyone,” Vance said.  
  
”It's already going to look like that,” Justin snapped. He opened the door as Daphne bounced over to the car. “Get in.” She complied happily.  
  
“You're clearly not looking after yourself,” Vance said. “After yesterday's debacle, I insist on driving you to and from work until you purchase your own vehicle.”  
  
“I'm not buying a car,” Justin said. “I can take public transportation just fine,” he said.  
  
“Then what happened yesterday?” Vance asked casually. “No, you are still having difficulties with your control, and it is too easy for you to be overwhelmed as you were if you are surrounded by too many people.”  
  
“I'm not an invalid,” Justin huffed. “I can manage just fine.”  
  
“I don't know about you,” Daphne said. “But I'd enjoy a car. I'll go half-and-half with you, if you share it?” she offered. She knew Justin wouldn't deny her anything. She was his best friend, his only real friend. And he was hers. She knew how to look out for him, and he always looked out for her. So even if he sat back against the plush leather and huffed at the injustice of it all, she knew that, after work, they'd likely be searching for a car. “Now take your pills, dear, so you don't get a boo-boo head,” she couldn't resist teasing, and she laughed when Justin flipped her off, but obediently took his pills.  
  
………………..  
  
JT perched on the iron stairs of the fire escape. He was peering down into the alleyway at the garbage disposal that lay against the brick wall of Babylon. This was where the last victim had been found. He'd meant to do a brief exploration of the place - not that he'd turn-up any physical evidence; the police had already been through. But Justin had found that part of his 'gift' included short visions of old memories stored in objects or places. It was what Daphne had called psychometry, but Justin didn't give a shit what the technical term for it was, so long as it turned up some kind of evidence that could put him on the trail of the person responsible for the murders.  
  
Laughter jarred him from his thoughts and he glanced briefly towards a group of fags who were exiting the nightclub. How the hell had someone disposed of a body here? Without being seen? It had to be in the very late evening when things were winding down, or the early morning when Babylon was closed. He watched as the group stumbled out of the alley and to the streets, breaking into two smaller groups as they went in the directions of their cars. A moment more, and Justin leapt off his perch, landing in a crouch on the pavement.  
  
He walked casually down the alleyway and when he was passing the garbage, casually reached out a hand and traced the cool metal. A moment more and he froze, hand against the side of the trashcan and body rigid as his mind was flooded.  
  
~ A pale hand, nails split and bleeding, flopped weakly against the green metal as someone tossed the body down.  
  
A large hand reached down, clasping dark denim. Rough hand, large in size, with blunt calloused fingers. A ring on one finger, like a class ring - silver, with a crest of a  
unicorn, and a single diamond.  
  
A grunt, low and guttural. The lithe body of the young twink was hefted up, braced against the side of the trash, and then tipped over.  
  
A shadow of a tall man. Tall and bulky. His hands brushed together four times: business complete. And the shadow shuffled out of the alleyway. ~  
  
JT jolted away from the trash and gasped for breath. He was momentarily disoriented but it cleared as he gulped in the cool air. The side door to the club banged open, JT didn't pause to think as he leapt up onto a nearby drainpipe, and shimmied his body up. His dark clothes blending into the darkness of the alley. It struck him for a moment, the oddness of this. Drinking and sucking and fucking and the heady thumpa-thumpa carrying on when, just outside, a twink had been dropped in the trash. Used goods. Forgotten. It made JT feel angry but only fleetingly. He couldn't afford to get wrapped-up in emotions; that led to trouble.  
  
Speaking of trouble, JT got a flash of a car parked just off Liberty where a leather daddy was dragging an unwilling and drugged-up trick. In a flash JT was off, vaulting over the edge of the roof until he stood on top and then racing in the direction of the car. He needed some kind of transportation, he thought to himself. Like a motorcycle or something. But then again, Liberty wasn't all that big, and it would be kind of stupid to be on a bike, racing back and forth on it. And it would be about as subtle as a bat to the head.  
  
He smirked to himself as he dropped down off the last roof and landed perfectly on the hood of the car. “And just what the fuck are you doing tonight?” he asked casually as the leather daddy, who'd by this point deposited the trick in the back of his car and was in the process of forcefully removing his clothes.  
  
JT must have surprised the man because he jerked upward, hitting his head quite hard against the roof of the car before he pulled away from the trick and stepped out of the car. “You want some of this?” he asked gruffly.  
  
“Not particularly,” JT answered honestly. “Doesn't look like he does, either.”  
  
“What's it to you?” the man asked.  
  
JT smiled pleasantly and shrugged. “I'm afraid I can't let you take advantage of tweaked-out tricks who you probably drugged yourself. And, seeing as how I've stumbled upon you, it really wouldn't be ethical for me to just walk away. So I'm afraid I have to ask you to let him get dressed, get out of your car, and go home.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” the man asked. By this time he was standing beside the front of the car, and JT was looking down on him. “Get down here, you shit!” he yelled, pounding the hood of the car.  
  
JT paused a moment to look at the man and sighed a long-suffering sigh. “Look. You really don't want to mess with me. I'm a lot more to handle than you might think.”  
  
“You're that prick everyone's talking about,” the man said, linking JT's masked presence with the description that was no doubt circulating around Liberty ever since JT had started prowling there. “That Suckass Avenger.”  
  
“Well, that's certainly a new spin on the name,” JT said, almost to himself, and hopped off the hood of the car.  
  
“Hey!” a new voice interrupted, and JT looked up and caught sight of Rage himself, standing on the roof of the building he himself had jumped down from only a few moments before.  
  
”Fancy meeting you here!” JT greeted with a wide grin. He watched Rage jump down from the roof and eye him closely, and then take in the scene. “Mustn't be a busy night on the streets of Liberty if we're bumping into each other like this. Don't worry, I've got it under control.” Rage raised a doubtful eyebrow. “No, seriously,” JT explained. When he was certain Rage had backed up (though he hadn't left) JT faced off against the leather daddy.  
  
“I'll fight you! I'll fight both of you!” the leather daddy challenged and assumed a fighting stance. JT assessed the stance, it was a sloppy one, and clearly the man had received his training via bar fights. Still, there was a fair amount of bulk to the guy and he could no doubt do damage.  
  
“Alright,” JT said, as if he were compromising with a child. “I'll let you take the first swing, but after that, I'm afraid I'll have to kick your ass.”  
  
“I'll fucking fight you!” the man restated.  
  
“Yes, you've said that,” JT replied. “So fight me.” And the man lunged forward.  
  
…………………  
  
Rage wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. He'd heard the description of the new superhero in Liberty a thousand times, along with descriptions of the supposed Secret Avenger's accomplishments. He'd been quite busy apparently, but Rage had yet to meet the man.  
  
And now, standing aside and seeing the twink perched on the hood of a beat-up old car, Rage had to admit that he'd imagined something a bit different. Still, it was likewise true that the Secret Avenger was fucking hot.  
  
He was shorter than Rage, and leaner. His blond hair was somewhat shaggy, and he wore a black mask, though it covered from the man's cheekbones to just below his eyebrows, and unlike Rage's plainly cut mask, had a bit of a dramatic flourish to it. The Secret Avenger had blue eyes and pale skin and thick, pouty lips. The outfit was very eye-catching as well. He wore a tight black shirt with three quarter length sleeves that cut off at the midriff and exposed a tantalizing strip of flesh when the superhero moved. He was also wearing black, lower rise leather pants which beautifully accentuated a perfect bubble butt, the pant legs were tucked into a pair of lace-up boots which rose to just over mid-calf. Around the Secret Avenger's neck, there was a silver chain, hanging like a choker against the smooth skin. On a large silver disc were the bold letters 'JT'.  
  
Rage wasn't sure what the other superhero was capable of. Stories on Liberty were always exaggerated. Case and point, being the image he'd had of the Secret Avenger, versus the reality. He'd actually pictured some mysterious, butch stud, prowling the streets in black. Not this cocky, young, tempter sassing the evildoers of Liberty before kicking in their egos.  
  
And the Secret Avenger was kicking this guy's ego. Because the man hadn't even landed a punch, and the Avenger had landed one solid punch to the man's gut, and now the big bad leather dad was crumpled on the cement, clutching his gut and moaning and writhing on the floor. The Secret Avenger stepped forward and pressed a palm casually to the man's forehead and Rage watched as the man's body jerked, then spasmed, and then he stilled, and passed out.  
  
Before Rage could ask what had been done to the man, the Secret Avenger was walking towards the car and coaxing the traumatized trick out of the backseat and into his clothes. “Look at me,” the darkly clad superhero gently coaxed the trick. After locking eyes with the jittery man, the masked blond stroked the trick's hair and nodded. “You'll be just fine, okay? I'll get you a cab.”  
  
“Where the hell are you going to get a cab?” Rage asked, but the Secret Avenger just threw him a dirty look and continued to calm the trick until, most inexplicably, a cab rounded the corner and pulled to a stop right by them.  
  
The Avenger, who by this point had extracted the location of the trick's home, walked confidently over to the taxi and relayed the directions as he ushered the man into the vehicle. As the cab sped off down the street, the Secret Avenger placed his fingerless gloved hands against the small of his back, and stretched.  
  
“Why didn't you pay for his cab, too?” Rage asked as he stepped forward, toeing the comatose form of the man on the ground before standing beside the other superhero.  
  
“He'll give him a ride free.” Was Rage's answer.  
  
“You're awfully naïve for someone in your line of work,” Rage retorted.  
  
“I always depend on the kindness of strangers,” Secret Avenger answered in a falsetto voice, mocking Stella from 'A Streetcar Named Desire'. “You'll find, my dear Rage, that I can be very … persuasive.”  
  
And Rage was actually stunned to see Secret Avenger walking away as if he hadn't a care in the world. As if he hadn't stopped a quite brutal rape from happening. As if he wasn't speaking to Pittsburgh's very own protector. “Aren't you forgetting something, oh mighty Secret Avenger?” Rage called after the enigmatic blond.  
  
Secret Avenger turned back halfway and looked at Rage. Rage kicked the prone body of the leather daddy. “Oh him,” Secret Avenger said. “Just leave him. He'll wake up with a bit of a headache, but he'll be fine. I don't think either one of us will have to worry about him anymore.” Secret Avenger gripped the side of a drainpipe and hauled himself up, climbing up several feet before he turned back to Rage and flashed a smirk. “If we're going to be working together, my dear Rage, you'll just have to call me JT. All of my close friends do.” And he said it in such a country-club way that Rage was tempted to snort out a laugh, but instead he watched the masked blond disappear, feeling slightly bereft, and awkward and incensed and just the slightest bit intrigued.  
  
………………….  
  
Three weeks after his first encounter with the enigmatic JT, and Brian couldn't get him out of his head. When he wasn't thinking about the Secret Avenger, he was thinking about Justin, and in the few moments when his thoughts hadn't been monopolized by the to blond men who'd stumbled into his life, he got some work done, or occasionally achieved some sleep.  
  
He'd run into JT several more times over his scouting. So far, though Brian had spoken to Michael about the newest addition to the streets of Liberty, Zephyr had yet to run into the blond. He'd tried to work out some theories as to who JT could be, but Michael had told him to shut up about it already and Brian, offended at the thought that his friend had said he was 'obsessing', had proceeded to infuriate said friend by insulting his lover and lifestyle, before stomping off in a huff. Well, that's basically what it had all boiled down to. Brian, of course, never considered that he stomped, or huffed, or was petty. After all, he could have done worse. But then again, he remembered the bruise he got from his trusty sidekick when he had 'persuaded' Dr. Dave to perform the funky chicken, naked and on the bar at Woody's.  
  
Well, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. And besides, Dave had been so condescending about 'stripping for charity', that Brian felt obligated to stand-up for his fellow queers who were doing good deeds. Michael hadn't seen it that way. It wasn't like Dave knew that Brian was in any way involved. As far as he knew, he drank some bad beer or something. The man wasn't all that bright in Brian's opinion, not like Justin; and certainly not witty, like JT.  
  
Fuck.  
  
With a huff, Brian towelled off his hair and picked up his phone. “Hey,” he said when the call was answered. “Babylon tonight?” he asked. He rolled his eyes at the response on the other end. “Well, fuck that. I promise to be my usual charming self, it will be perfectly respectable. And anyway, every fag in the Pitts has to go to Babylon at least once. It's a fucking right of passage.” Again another quip on the other end of the line, and Brian actually chuckled. “I'll pick you up in -“ but he was cut-off, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What the fuck do you mean, you'll meet me there? At the rate the bus runs at this time the club will be closed.” He paused for the response and quirked an eyebrow at the response. “You got a new car?” Another answer. “Fine, I'll meet you there.”  
  
…………….  
  
As much as Brian loved his Jeep, and he really did, he had to admit that the black 'vette was very hot. “You like it?” Justin asked, from where he'd been leaning against the side of his car. “It was a joke I was playing on Daphne. We decided to go half-and-half and I thought, you know, freak her out or something, by wanting something so completely expensive and far from her taste. So I took her to see it and really just, like, gushed over the fucking thing.” Justin was smoking a cigarette, and dressed in dark denim Diesels and a black tank top with a pointless blue graphic on the chest. His hair looked ruffled, and when he casually flicked his wrist to indicate the car, Brian thought it was the sexiest sight he'd ever seen. Justin, leaning against this total cock-mobile, looking sleek and young and careless. “And it turns out Daphne fucking loved it and even when I tried to convince her I was kidding, that I didn't actually want it, she ends-up convincing me to get it.”  
  
“Go figure,” Brian chuffed. “Somehow I can't picture your assistant riding around in this thing.”  
  
“It's actually really depressing,” Justin commented woefully as he stomped his cigarette out. “It suits her better than it does me.” Brian laughed and tossed an arm casually over Justin's shoulders as they headed towards Babylon.  
  
It hadn't quite been a revelation when, after working together for over two months and getting to be sort of friends, that the issue of Justin's sexuality had come-up. Brian had learned that Justin was not in the closet, and not at all embarrassed about his orientation, but he didn't wave it in the face of his co-workers. It had been Daphne who had forced the issue to come up when she'd come bouncing into Justin's office without knowing Brian was there, and talking about how she was down on Liberty in this shop called Torso and found the cutest outfit for Justin that would get him laid by a gorgeous stud - oh hi Mr. Kinney! Oops, didn't know you were here! I'll just be running away now!  
  
And Justin had just sort said: Yeah, so I'm gay. And Brian had sort of shrugged and responded with what essentially boiled down to: 'yeah, so what? Me too' and they'd gone back to their ad because it wasn't anything they hadn't figured out about the other already. But, having made it official, Brian had known that Justin wouldn't freak-out if he offered to meet him at Liberty Diner, or Woody's for a drink, or whatever. And they'd done that, on occasion. Not a date or anything, just, 'Hey, I'm going to be at this place at this time. Maybe we'll run into each other,' and then pretending to be surprised when the other actually did.  
  
As they made it into the club they stopped by the bar long enough to knock back two shots, and then Justin had hit the dance floor. For someone who had never been to Babylon, Justin looked as if he'd been born there. He moved as if his body were being physically pushed by the music itself. It took less than three minutes for Justin to be lost in the mass of throbbing bodies. Hastily finishing his drink, Brian pushed away from the bar intending to go and join Justin in the crowd, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him and he turned to greet whatever possible trick could be attempting to catch his attention.  
  
Brian did not expect to turn and face two cops.  
  
“I'm detective Stockwell, this is my partner detective Rikert,” the taller of the two introduced. Brian bit his tongue to keep from retorting, it was far too easy and he didn't think it was the best thing to do - piss off a couple of cops who were clearly uncomfortable with the Liberty scene.  
  
“What can I do for you gentlemen,” Brian retorted, his voice like silk and only the slightest hint of mockery in it. Over the years, Brian's respect for Pittsburgh's finest had been diminishing in leaps and bounds.  
  
“We're looking into the death of a kid - he was found just outside here, in a dumpster,” Stockwell said. When Brian didn't say anything, merely raised an eyebrow, Stockwell continued. “Were you here on the night of October ninth, between one and five in the morning?”  
  
“No. I was home,” Brian answered. Stockwell seemed about to open his mouth but at that moment, Justin came over to his side, his bright smile turning serious when he noticed that the men Brian was chatting with were not tricks.  
  
“What's up?” Justin asked casually.  
  
“These gentlemen are making inquiries into John O'Connor's death,” Brian said with a fake smile.  
  
“Our latest Dumpster Boy,” Justin said in acknowledgement, looking Stockwell directly in the eye. Brian was surprised to see Stockwell shift a bit in discomfort.  
  
“Were you on Liberty on the night of October ninth, between one and five in the morning?” Stockwell repeated, this time to Justin.  
  
“I was at home, fast asleep,” Justin answered. Brian noted that Rikert had yet to take his eyes away from Justin and wondered why he suddenly felt fiercely protective of the younger blond.  
  
“Can anyone corroborate that?” Rikert asked, his voice rough and his eyes intense.  
  
Justin's head jerked up a bit in defiance and he sort of smirked, it was the only clue that Brian had that Justin, too, had figured out that Rikert was at least mildly interested in the mass of half-clad men that surrounded them. “My roommate. Why? Am I a suspect?” Justin seemed to have no qualms with taunting the police. Brian put a hand around Justin's waist in the hopes that the blond would ease off.  
  
“Not at all,” Stockwell answered, and his smile was tense. He nodded to both Brian and Justin before they moved on to the next man in the hopes of finding someone who had heard something on the night in question.  
  
“Fucking cops,” Justin said as he watched them go. Rikert turned to take one more look at Justin and Justin's eyes narrowed a bit before he turned to face Brian. “You ready to go?”  
  
“Running in to Pittsburgh's finest has sort of soured the evening,” Brian admitted, and removed his hand from Justin's hips, replacing it around the blonde's shoulders as they headed out.  
  
…………….  
  
Justin did not bother to be quiet when he entered his apartment. It wasn't too late, only forty-five minutes passed midnight, but Justin was always very aware of his roommate and didn't want to wake Daphne up if she'd been asleep. At that moment, Justin's head was spinning and he was trying desperately to process the information he'd gathered that night.  
  
”Justin?” Daphne asked groggily as she peered out of her bedroom. Justin was pacing and didn't turn to greet her. “What happened?” she asked, immediately alert. Over the two years she had worked with him, Daphne was fairly certain that she knew the blond better than anyone else.  
  
“It's a fucking cop,” was Justin's answer.  
  
”Who is? What?” she asked. She flopped heavily onto the sofa and watched her friend pace.  
  
“The killer! The sick fuck. He's a fucking cop who's a homophobic fag. He fucks them, and then can't stand what it means that he fucked a boy and what his homophobic partner would say, so he kills them. Just like that,” Justin says.  
  
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Daphne said, sitting up as she finally realized what Justin was talking about. “How do you know this?”  
  
Early on, when the boys had just started turning up in dumpsters, Justin had commented that he could easily go under-cover and lure out the murderer; after all, he fit the victim profile. Both Vance and Daphne had been more than against the idea and had proceeded to berate Justin for even suggesting it. Now, she wondered if what they had said had even sunk-in.  
  
“Brian and I were at Babylon, and these two detectives were speaking with people, trying to find anyone who had heard anything or seen anything strange on the night of O'Connor's murder. Detective Rikert,” Justin practically sneered the name. Daphne had never heard her friend sound like that before. “He was practically broadcasting everything.” And Justin felt dirty, just seeing what the man had done to those boys.  
  
“Well, that's a good thing, right?” Daphne asked. “Now we know who to go after!”  
  
“I don't think I'm going to have to go after him, Daph,” Justin said, and his tone of voice sent shivers up her spine. She watched as he sighed and let his head flop back against the back of the sofa. “I think he's going to come to me.”  



	6. Getting Closer

Brian, unlike Justin, did not read minds he controlled them. He knew that Rikert was checking out Justin but figured it was for the same reason why everyone else at Babylon had checked-out his young friend - he was fucking hot. In that moment, it had dawned on Brian that Justin Taylor fit the victim profile of whoever the sick-fuck running through Pittsburgh and strangling people was.  
  
Brian began reviewing what he knew about the murders as soon as he'd returned to the loft. There was nothing linking the victims besides the fact they were twinks under twenty, and the fact that the time of death was always anywhere from twelve o'clock to two in the morning. Try as he might to find some lead, Brian was at a complete loss to find a clue. Every loose end had been tied-up, all the evidence was nonexistent - it was as if the guy knew crime so well that he could work the system in his favor - or he worked for the system. Either way, Brian wasn't any closer to figuring out who the enemy was. Turning off the lights systematically in the loft, Brian made the decision that either way, he wasn't letting Justin Taylor out of his sight, though he was reluctant to assess the reason for this protectiveness he was suddenly feeling. It was easy enough to dismiss it as a logical reaction, since Justin seemed to constantly attract trouble, and Brian was satisfied for the moment to leave it at that.  
  
…………………….  
  
The car was parked across the street from the apartment, looking inconspicuous - a brown Volvo between a beat-up Volkswagen, and a green Sunfire; but Justin had seen it there every day for the past three days and the driver never left the vehicle. Justin knew the precise moment it would pull into that spot across the street because a shiver would wrack his body no matter where he was in the apartment, and he would no longer be able to sit still.  
  
This time was no exception and he was relieved when Daphne finally came out of the bathroom and rolled her eyes. “Come on!” she said, as if he had been the one preening in the bathroom for the passed forty-five minutes. “We're going to be late!”  
  
Justin didn't say anything; simply rolled his eyes right back at her and exited the apartment. He made a point of keeping his head down when they stepped outside of their building and didn't glance up until Daphne had cleared their street and turned onto the main road. “What's up with you?” she asked, glancing at him briefly before turning her eyes back on the road. Justin shook his head and absentmindedly rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to ward off the shivers - the Volvo was following them. “Is he back, Justin?” she asked, her tone serious.  
  
“Of course,” Justin said. When she flashed him a worried look, he rolled his eyes. “We knew this was going to happen,” he reminded her.  
  
“No, we fucking didn't. In fact, didn't I tell you this was a bad idea? I told you this was a bad idea!” she said, and hit her hand on the steering wheel to make a point. Justin huffed but didn't say a word. “Look, talk to Vance. He can arrange for you to get out of town for a bit. There's the McAllister account, he could send you out to work on that. You can visit your friends in London.”  
  
“I have no friends in London,” Justin reminded her. Justin didn't have 'friends' period. He didn't trust people enough to have them. He had Daphne, and he had Vance - and lately, he had Brian, though why he felt so comfortable with the man was beyond him, but he trusted his instincts and there were no warning bells yet so he yeah, he had Brian.  
  
“Dammit, Justin,” she said, almost to herself. He knew she worried about him but he really wished she wouldn't. He could look after himself, just like he always had. His first concern was that she was being placed in trouble because she was with him. Justin had made a point of keeping an eye on her, so far it seemed he was the only one who's steps were being haunted and that was fine, so long as they left Daphne out of it.  
  
They pulled into the parking lot at Vanguard and the warmth slowly returned to Justin; they hurried out of the parking lot, into the building, and up to the office. “Justin,” Daphne said, just before the elevator pinged to release them onto their floor. He turned to face her, but she seemed unable to form words, instead, she wrapped her hand gently around his upper arm, and he knew immediately everything that she was trying to say, but couldn't.  
  
“I promise,” he answered her with a smile, and she smiled back though without much enthusiasm. As they stepped out of the elevator, they were both wondering about Justin's ability to keep his word in this matter.  
  
………………………..  
  
“Hey,” Brian said as he glanced up from computer and noticed the blond, his head resting heavily against his propped arm, more asleep than awake despite the pencil he still clutched in his hand. “Fuck,” Brian said, as a glance at the clock revealed the hour to be closer to morning than midnight. “Hey,” he said again as he walked over to Justin and prodded him gently. Justin blinked bleary eyes up at him, looking slightly disoriented. “You can sleep here tonight. It's late.” Justin just nodded his head.  
  
With three new, major accounts in need of their attention Justin, more often than not, found himself crashing at Brian's loft. Most times he had ended-up sprawled on Brian's couch, and but there were a few occasions where he had ended-up in Brian's bed, and usually because the sound of Justin's back cracking as he'd sat upright had forced Brian to gruffly order him into bed, and Justin had gladly obliged - passing out on top of the soft mattress before he could even shed his shoes. The next morning, Justin had never stopped to analyze the fact that he'd awoken shoe and sock free - he and Brian had become comfortable like that with each other, an easy acceptance of the other in every respect, though they had done nothing remotely intimate, save for a few shared dances at Babylon when they found the time.  
  
Brian headed up the steps to the bedroom and then through the bedroom to the bathroom where he made use of the toilette and went through his well-practiced routine as he prepared for bed. When he exited the bathroom there was no sign of Justin, either collapsed in the bed or sprawled on the couch. A quick glance towards the table revealed the blond exactly where Brian had left him - fast asleep, arm crossed over the sketch of the ad he'd been touching-up, and head resting against his arm.  
  
Brian prodded Justin reluctantly, feeling suddenly guilty for making such a big thing out of these accounts and making them both work so hard. He quickly quelled the thought, these were huge accounts that would bring in loads of money if they worked it right, and Brian never did anything that was less than perfect. Justin wrinkled his nose and shifted his head slightly but otherwise showed no reaction to Brian's attempts to return him to the waking world.  
  
With a sigh, Brian maneuvered the sleeping form off the chair, hefting Justin's lax body in his arms. In retro thought, it probably would have been easier to deposit Justin on the couch. The young-man had slept there before and though it would have been sweetly sentimental to say that Justin was feather-light with bones like a bird, he really wasn't. As lithe and lean as the kid was he had muscle hidden on that sleek frame, and muscle had weight to it. While it was true that, for Brian with his more developed muscles, he could haul Justin about without issue, he found his balance was never quite trustworthy when he was exhausted, and the short trek to the couch over even terrain would have been simpler than navigating the steps up to the bedroom.  
  
It probably would have made more sense for Brian to put Justin on the couch, as well. The only time Justin had ever slept in Brian's bed, it had been an accident, a result of exhausted minds getting directions mixed-up when presented with the lure of soft sheets and a mattress just one step away, rather than a couch a considerable distance further. Or guilt, when the sound of Justin's creaking bones had reminded Brian that this was yet another night he had sentenced the Art director to a spot on a couch instead of the chance to return home and into his own cozy bed.  
  
Now, however, Brian had no excuse; whether Justin was asleep or not, Brian was awake and heading directly towards the bedroom with only the briefest of glances spared to the couch. This was a conscious decision, and Brian didn't give a fuck. He'd found it remarkably comfortable the one time Justin had ended-up in the bed, and he liked the idea of Justin being there. And anyway, the kid was going to get a crick in his back if he continued crashing on the couch - and at the table.  
  
…………………….  
  
Justin usually slept quite soundly. He remembered one time when a thunderstorm had crashed and rumbled when he had been at the manor in England; how he had walked in for breakfast the next day to see everyone looking rather tired, and rubbing their eyes and talking about memories they'd created the night before when they had all found their way to the parlor because no one could sleep through the storm. Justin had asked what they were talking - he hadn't heard a thing.  
  
The only time Justin was ever startled awake was as the result of a strange noise not usual to his surroundings, the presence of someone in his room where there hadn't been one before - or as a result of a nightmare. Most times, if it were a sound or a person he would never be jolted into full wakefulness, unless he couldn't recognize the noise or the feel of the person. Nightmares always woke him, and refused to let him fall back to sleep and plagued him with an alarming regularity that had not diminished with the distance the passing days allowed him from the bashing.  
  
So when Justin began feel aware of his surroundings he was surprised because, though he wasn't completely awake, he was certainly not asleep, and the only thing that was remotely disturbing was the feel of being suspended in mid-air but cradled against something warm, with strong arms wrapped about his body. He could tell without even opening his eyes that Brian was carrying him somewhere, likely the couch. What startled him was the sensation that this was not something new. That he had been in these arms before; they certainly seemed familiar.  
  
Try as he might to ponder this, Justin found that the steady rhythm of Brian's heart, beating against his ear and the warmth from Brian's body seeping into his own was amazingly calming. The last thought to pass through his mind as they arrived at whatever destination Brian had in mind was that the couch felt amazingly soft tonight and then he snuggled happily into a warmth that was suddenly draped over him, which he only fleetingly acknowledged as a duvet, and Justin fell back into sleep.  
  
…………………..  
  
“Hey,” Brian said the next morning as they walked up the steps to the building that housed Vanguard together. Noticing the worried frown on Justin's face, and the way the blond refused to look up from the ground as he walked Brian was immediately aware that something was wrong, but a brief scan around the area revealed nothing out of the usual. He refrained from asking patronizing questions: 'what's wrong?' ' Are you okay', because he knew damn well that Justin wouldn't tell him.  
  
“I'm fine,” Justin was suddenly saying, and Brian glanced again at the blond out of the corner of his eyes. When they reached the doors dark blue eyes darted to the right where they latched onto a brown car pulled against the side of the curb before Justin hurriedly entered the building, shoulders tense. Brian paused at the door, watching Justin retreat into the building. He glanced at the car and realized that he had seen one similar parked outside the loft this morning when he and Justin had left for work.  
  
Brian didn't frown, didn't chew his lip or quirk an eyebrow. Simply looked at the brown car and took-in the details down to the bulky man whose shadow he could make out sitting in the driver's seat. Brian didn't even linger long at the door, but when he turned to follow Justin he knew every detail about that car, and he'd be watching out for it.  
  
…………………….  
  
Brian didn't see Justin until almost four o'clock when he made his way over to the art director's office to arrange a time when they could head-out together. They were almost done, but Brian wanted the boards perfect and they had agreed on another 'all-nighter', though usually they both fell-asleep before they could really fill the entire night with work. They'd both become practically nocturnal, but unfortunately that meant that even the merest hint of sunlight in the sky made their eyes fall close and seal-shut, sometimes so suddenly that they'd be awakened moments later when they're heads harshly connected with the table they were working on.  
  
Coming around the corner to where Justin's office was, he was just in time to see Daphne being showered with papers and photographs as Justin's office door slammed closed. Daphne, ignoring the papers, lunged at the door and banged on it. “I'm just worried, is all!” she shouted through it. “Brian!” she said as she suddenly noticed him, and her expression and tone changed so drastically that Brian wondered what he had just witnessed, and whether it had really happened or not.  
  
“What's wrong with him?” Brian asked.  
  
“He's just being a shit,” Daphne said, with a large smile that didn't reach her eyes. As Brian's eyes began to drift towards the floor Daphne moved faster than lightning, dropping into a crouch and hastily scooping the papers up into a pile which she quickly placed the folder they had originally been kept in on the top. Brian hadn't had a chance to see what it was and assumed it was another project that was frustrating Justin. Vance, in Brian's opinion, was too dependant on his art director, and though the man had been gaining trust with the new department, he was overworking Justin by insisting that he keep an eye over all the accounts so closely, and help when it was necessary. It was nice to know that anything that came across the desk to them would be perfect, but the dark circles under Justin's eyes were only the most obvious signs of the man's state of exhaustion.  
  
“Maybe you'll have better luck with him,” she joked, and Brian frowned as she stood again and headed back to her desk.  
  
Brian knocked quietly on the door and was greeted by Justin's voice ordering him happily to, “Fuck off!”  
  
“Justin?” Brian asked, and there was the sound of things falling to the floor and hasty footsteps and then the door was opened suddenly though not fully, and Justin peered out at him. “Can I come in?” Brian asked, his tongue in cheek.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Justin said, and ruffled a hand through his hair as he turned his back and disappeared into his office.  
  
Brian was quite fond of Justin's workspace. It was a mess of canvases and boards and photographs, but it managed to be organized in its chaos, and all of the work was Justin's. The colours in the office were bright but not overwhelming and the furniture was tasteful, with clean lines that Brian approved of. And Justin had a couch that was the most comfortable damn couch Brian had ever sat upon.  
  
He sprawled onto that couch casually and watched as Justin began to pick-up the stack of files that had fallen to the floor, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples to ward off the headache he could just feel encroaching on his senses. His moment of peace, however, was interrupted by a quiet curse and he opened his eyes to see Justin stand hastily and turn his back to Brian. He seemed to be holding both hands to his chest, but Brian couldn't make-out what he was doing.  
  
A moment later, Justin turned around to face him sheepishly, cradling his right hand in his left and keeping them both close to his chest. They stayed that way for a moment before they were interrupted by Daphne who startled them when she flung the door open, stomped into the room loudly, and slammed a little orange bottle onto the desk. “Just fucking take the damn things!” she said, and stomped out again.  
  
The look of relief that flashed across Justin's face was overwhelming, and Brian watched as the blond popped the lid of the orange bottle, meticulously spilled two round magenta pills into his palm, and then knocked the pills back without chasing them with water. A moment later, and Justin was leaning against his desk sighing a deep sigh of relief and then reopening his eyes to meet Brian's intense stare.  
  
A faint blush coloured the pale cheeks as Justin quickly broke the stare. When blue eyes again met hazel, Justin seemed oddly defeated and he approached the couch cautiously, sitting down on the far end and leaving lots of room between them. “A couple of years ago,” Justin began, and licked his lips. Again he glanced towards the door as if pondering the merit of simply fleeing through it, but he turned his gaze back to his hands, and it was then that Brian realized that the right one, which Justin was still cradling, was curled in on itself and looked rigid with tension.  
  
Justin cleared his throat, glanced briefly at Brian to make sure he had the man's attention, then stared solidly back at his hands. “I lived in Pittsburgh,” Justin began again. “Until a few years back,” he elaborated, as if Brian hadn't been able to pick-up these facts through snippets of information gleaned from overheard conversations and Justin's own half-hearted attempts to share pieces of his own history. “I had been out to my parents for a while. My mum was struggling with it, but trying to be supportive, you know?” Brian nodded, though he had never experienced that -- both his parents were still unaware of his sexuality. He hadn't spoken to them since he had stuffed all his belongings in his gym bag and walked out the front door on his way to university.  
  
“My dad,” Justin continued. “He wasn't -- He wasn't so supportive.” Brian could tell from the way Justin's left hand raised to that place behind his ear he always toyed with when he was nervous that there was a story there, but apparently this wasn't the moment that Justin would share it. “We had a fight one night, a really bad one.” Brian could imagine how the argument had gone; he wondered if Justin's father had ever gotten physical with his son. “I left,” and Justin's voice cracked slightly. He took a moment to regroup. “I had to get out.” Brian recognized that quiet, plaintive desperation in his tone; knew it from his own youth when he had confided in Michael, had said almost the same words to his friend, and used the same tone as well. “I just walked, I had no idea where my feet were taking me. I ended-up on Liberty Avenue, and I just walked.”  
  
They sat in silence for a moment, Justin looking at his hands and Brian looking at Justin looking at his hands. “It was pretty late. It was dark. I was right by Babylon when it happened. A kid from school - a gang from school, had picked that night to peruse Liberty. They recognized me walking. --I didn't have a chance to run, they just swarmed around me and suddenly I was being dragged into a side-alley and they just - they just ---“ Justin trailed off, raised his eyes to the upper right corner of the room.  
  
“I don't remember what happened,” Justin admitted, and Brian worked hard to stop words from spilling out. From admitting that he knew, that he had been there at least for a part of that night, and he understood. He stopped all of that from tumbling out because Brian hadn't been there, it had been Rage, and Justin was in enough trouble as it was without knowing about Rage. “As far as I can make out, they jumped me and then one of them hit me in the head with a baseball bat. I was in a coma for two weeks, rehab for a month. And -“ Justin held out his right hand -- curled into a tense claw -- and stared at it with a pained sadness that made Brian ache. “And it's never been the same. I have meds for it, and it's been getting better, but if I work too hard, or - it just - and,” Justin let his hand drop back to his lap and looked away from Brian only to turn back when the man gently picked-up the curled hand and pressed long fingers into it.  
  
They didn't say anything. They didn't look at each other. Brian stayed intent on his task and Justin was staring at their hands as if they were foreign objects. Brian worked patiently to unkink the muscles that had gnarled together, and when Justin let out another long sigh Brian glanced up to see the blond with his eyes closed, his face looking lost in bliss, and Brian couldn't help but smirk. The kid was too damn easy to please.  
  
“Do you have your things together?” Brian asked after a while.  
  
“Yeah,” Justin said, then opened his eyes and looked around as if just returning to earth. “Yeah,” he said, sounding firmer. “Let's go.”  
  
……………….  
  
Brian wasn't quite sure how it happened. When they had left Vanguard, they had stayed quite close to each other, not touching, but brushing arms as they walked. They'd kept close to each other once they had reached the loft as well, and though he was certain they were both keenly aware of the nearness, they didn't bring it up and neither one of them had moved apart.  
  
The furthest they got from each other was five paces away from the table as Brian repeatedly paced from where Justin sat at the table to five steps away, and then back again as they brainstormed the last ad they had to design. “What if we just took-out the models,” Justin said, as Brian once again paced five steps away. Brian paused long enough to rub at his temples and Justin hunched over the table where he used the art computer Brian had bought for his loft (it was simpler to have one there, since Justin was constantly coming over to go over designs and ideas).  
  
“Here,” Justin said after a moment, leaning back in his chair. Brian paced forward bending over the back of Justin's chair, chin pressing gently onto the top of Justin's head as he peered at the screen. Justin had removed the two models from the picture - they'd both been bickering about the damn models, and their expressions and their placement - and now what was left was a sleek, modern flat, with clothes strewn about the floor as if they had been shed by eager hands, marking a path to the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar and dominated the picture.  
  
“Brilliant,” was Brian's professional assessment - and then it happened as if they'd done it every day since the beginning of time.  
  
As Brian straightened-up Justin, smiling broadly, tilted his head back so he could see Brian's face and on impulse, Brian found himself leaning down again, pressing his lips against Justin's. When he thought to pull away he managed only the briefest of separations between them before both he and Justin pressed their mouths together again.  
  
It wasn't like how Rage had kissed Justin.  
  
Or maybe, it wasn't only how Rage had kissed Justin. Brian had remembered thinking that the blond had been hot -- standing there unfazed as he was, teasing Rage like he was in the company of superheroes every day. He remembered seeing in Justin in that moment, an equal. Someone who was a match for him on so many levels, could get him hot and bothered, could meet his wit with wit and sass, and he had also seen someone who could, perhaps, temper him, balance him in a way he had never found anyone capable of before. Rage had wanted to see how far he could push Justin, to see how far Justin could go - could continue to match him. Justin had passed the test.  
  
This time they came together like magnets, like their lips belonged there - pressed against each other. There was the same intensity, the same union of equals and opposites; and also, there was surrender, as if they were both giving-in to something that they had been sidestepping for months. And maybe they were. Maybe this had been building between them from that very first moment Justin had stepped through to his office. As their tongues sparred, taking each other's mouths like enemy territory, it seemed like an unsurprising, completely natural progression. As if they had always been 'Brian and Justin', as if they had always shared this between them.  
  
So when Brian slipped his hands beneath Justin's sweater he was unsurprised when the blond arched his body into the touch and turned to press more of himself to Brian. And when the blonde's arms wrapped tightly around the back of his neck, Brian wasn't shocked to find that his feet were already stepping backward, pulling Justin up out of the chair, following that familiar path from the table, up the steps, and to the bed where they dropped together onto soft sheets in a tangle of limbs.  
  
They lay there, wrapped together; with neither one quite able to figure-out which limb belong to whom, both drowning in sensation, pressing together as their passion grew. And through gasps and muffled groans and shaking, groping hands, they managed to divest each other of clothing, and Brian's fingers were twining into Justin's soft gold hair, and Justin was following the gentle tug, arching his neck upwards in offering to Brian's devouring mouth.  
  
Brian couldn't remember a time when he had been so overwhelmed, so adrift in sensation, so urgent that his hands were practically shaking as he reached for lubricant and a condom, not even able to remove his lips and tongue from the pale soft skin shuddering beneath his body.  
  
He tore open the condom packet with his teeth and rolled it down his heated cock and when he looked up, Justin's dazed blue eyes were on him. “I haven't - just -- take it easy,” Justin said, his voice thick and rough, and Brian felt his body grow impossibly harder at the notion that Justin had never once been penetrated, that Brian would be his first.  
  
Brian pressed his lips to Justin's temple in response, he flicked the cap off the lube and spread a liberal amount on his fingers but as he shifted his hand between Justin's legs he heard a strangled moan from his partner. A glance up to impossibly blue eyes revealed that the boy was combating fear and want and making a brave attempt to focus on what was going on. The expression was too much, and Brian couldn't resist pressing their mouths together once more, he kept them together as he pushed his finger into Justin's body, pushing it in and then pausing as he felt Justin spasm around him, adjusting to the intrusion. Brian kept their tongues sparring as he pressed his second, and then his third digit passed the ring of tight muscle and flexed and stretched and prepared Justin.  
  
His lips had wandered to that place where neck met jaw, just below Justin's right ear which Brian had discovered made the boy press his body upwards, and made his head fall back, and the most exquisite whispered keen issue from that pouting, gasping mouth. As Brian removed his fingers, and then pushed his straining cock to the blonde's entrance, Justin's hands moved from where they had previously been clutching the sheets and wrapped tightly around Brian's biceps.  
  
“It hurts,” Justin said, a little out of breath. “Does it always hurt?”  
  
“A little bit,” Brian admitted, keeping his lower body still and maintaining eye contact. He watched as Justin's eyes scrunched closed and then opened once more. He felt the body beneath him shift slightly, and then Justin swallowed, his mouth falling open again because he was still gasping for breath, and Brian realized his hands had moved from where they had been keeping Justin's legs draped about his shoulders, to Justin's neck and head, his thumbs stroking back and forth across Justin's jaw.  
  
“Better?” Brian asked, because Justin was no longer wincing, was simply looking at him with a sort of calm curiosity, and with two affirmative jerks of his head Justin gave permission for Brian to move.  
  
And god, it had been so long since Brian had felt like this during sex. Had it ever felt this way? Brian couldn't think straight, had no desire to think straight. The room filled with the sound of their bodies in friction, with their moans and gasps and Justin's fucking whimpers as Brian's cock scraped against his prostate at the same time Brian's tongue exploited that particularly sensitive erogenous zone just below his ear. Brian wasn't even aware that his palm was pressed against Justin's palm, that their fingers were intertwined and resting above Justin's head, that his other hand was tangled in blond hair, and that Justin's free hand was clutching tightly at the back of his neck, keeping him close, keeping their bodies tight together.  
  
When Justin came, his toes curled, his body tensed - lifted upward and pressed against Brian's chest, clenching down around Brian's cock. His neck arched up his eyes close, his mouth opened in a soundless scream and he was fucking glowing under the blue lights, looking ethereal and gorgeous, and Brian was momentarily stunned by it.  
  
Then Brian came, and his orgasm started in his toes and rocketed through his entire body, leaving him spent and useless, and feeling oddly complete, and he gasped for breath as he collapsed against Justin's chest, and all of it was natural, as if they'd been expecting it, as if they knew it was inevitable; and maybe it was.  
  
When they returned to the world, Brian slid out of Justin's body with a twinge of loss and disposed of the condom, collapsing onto the bed beside the boy. There was a slightly awkward moment when Justin shifted slightly to look at him, his eyes asking a question, perfectly prepared to act on whatever answer he received; but Brian put an end to the thought by lifting his arm upwards, and Justin fitted his body closely against Brian's, and Brian lowered his arm around the boy, and they fell asleep.


	7. The Revelation of Identity

There were three reasons why, when Justin finally awoke the next day, he felt disoriented.  
  
The first reason was because he had slept the night through entirely without a single nightmare. That had not happened in over two years - ever since the bashing he'd had at least one nightmare and nothing he did to prevent them ever worked. They were something he had become acclimatised to, though the night terrors themselves were always terrifying, he was used to their coming, and the absence of them was keenly felt.  
  
The second was that he was wrapped not only in a warm blanket, but also held against a very warm body. What was even more unusual was that he was naked and pressed firmly against another body and was feeling no ill affects from the contact. He wasn't getting any memory-flashes from a life that was not his own; there were no emotions save the comfort and contentment that was entirely his. It was about the time that he was noting this that he realized the third thing that was disorienting him, which was that he was not in his own bedroom.  
  
He opened his eyes quickly, though he felt no sense of fear or threat, and his eyes immediately connected with a pair of hazel eyes. In a flood his mind connected his present situation with the memories of the night prior, which he had been dismissing as a dream until just that moment. Justin rubbed his eyes and leaned up to look at the alarm, huffing at the time - they had to get up.  
  
“Out of bed, Sunshine,” Brian said, smirking as Justin attempted to bury his head under the pillow and having to shove Brian's shoulder out of the way to do that. Justin felt a hand stroke through his hair and smiled to himself as he peaked out and grunted in response. “I'm going for a shower,” Brian said as he shifted Justin's body of his, still smirking, and headed towards the bathroom. He stopped by the door and turned back towards the bed. “You coming?” Justin's smile turned to a full grin and he hopped from the bed and sauntered after the brunette.  
  
…………………..  
  
“You look happy,” Daphne noted as Justin - who had just separated from Brian so they could go to their respective offices - passed her desk. Justin turned his grin to her and wiggled his eyebrows before ducking into his office. “Wait,” Daphne said to the closed door, trying to process what her friend's curious behaviour meant. “Did you -“ she got up and tried the door handle. “Holy crap did you ff-“ but before she could finish the door was pulled open, a hand slammed down over her mouth and she was jerked into the depths of Justin's office while he slammed the door shut.  
  
“Want to announce it to the entire office that I'm fucking the boss?”  
  
“You're fucking the boss?” she asked. Justin rolled his eyes and mentally counted down from ten. When he reached one, Daphne's eyes widened. “Holy shit! You got laid! - Holy shit! Brian fucked you? You had sex with Brian?”  
  
Grinning as much as his friend's predictability as the accomplishment itself, Justin nodded and settled down happily behind his desk. “It was incredible,” he admitted. “He was just amazing.”  
  
“Did it hurt?” she asked. “I mean, when I had sex with Eric, it kind of hurt.”  
  
“It did at first, but he was so gentle with me, and god, it was just amazing.” For a moment Justin was lost in the memory.  
  
“How did it happen? I mean, whenever you two were anywhere near each other the sexual energy could be felt all the way in Thailand, but what happened last night?”  
  
“It just happened,” Justin said with a shrug. “I have no idea how. One minute we were roughing out a plan for that perfume ad, the next we were kissing - and then we were tumbling in his bed and … we went from there.”  
  
“Oh my god. You have to tell me everything. All the detail,” Daphne said as she plopped into the couch, looking at him avidly. “God, the very idea is just too hot for words.”  
  
“He started out with just a gentle ---“ and Justin bit down on his tongue. Daphne frowned, about to ask what was wrong when suddenly Justin's door was opening and Gardner Vance came in.  
  
“Justin, Brian ran the new 'Heat' ad by me and I wanted to come by and say - you look different today.”  
  
“Erm, okay. Thanks for taking the time to let me know,” Justin said, trying not to blush as the man he regarded as his father shut the door and came close to inspect him.  
  
“Has something happened?” Vance asked.  
  
“No, I'm brilliant,” Justin said. “Fantastic.” Daphne giggled and Justin shot her a glare.  
  
Vance eyed the two of them and then shook his head. “I also wanted to ask you about the progress regarding detective Rikert.” Justin had informed Vance about his discovery and Vance had made several attempts to ship Justin across the seas until this thing blew over.  
  
“Nothing so far. And if you're restricting JT from going out and kicking his ass -“  
  
“I don't want you risking that,” Vance cut in. “At the moment, you're control is shaky, you have difficulty with the man and you've barely made contact with him. And if, as you say, he is watching you constantly then you would be risking your identity as well if you went after him. No, at the moment I think it best if you sit and wait and we'll come up with a plan.”  
  
“He won't be watching forever,” Justin said. “He's patient to a point.”  
  
Vance placed a hand on Justin's shoulder and squeezed. “I'm not risking you unnecessarily.”  
  
“I'm at risk anyway. I might as well be useful,” Justin countered.  
  
“You're of little use to anyone when you are overwhelmed. We'll think of something.” Justin nodded his head, but he was unconvinced.  
  
…………………..  
  
“Come in,” Brian called in response to the knock on his door, and then smirked, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingers when Justin came through the door.  
  
“Hey. I'm dropping off the finalized boards for the Stenson account. Teresa was insisting that you specifically called for pink in the background, but that didn't seem right to me so I switched it to green. How's this?” He flipped the board around the show Brian. “I can switch it back if you actually wanted the pink.”  
  
“I didn't ask for the pink,” Brian said.  
  
“Good, because it didn't seem like the kind of thing that you would - okay, well, here you go,” Justin placed the boards by Brian's desk and attempted to make a hasty retreat when he realized he was babbling.  
  
“Justin,” Brian called, and Justin found himself looping back to stand by the desk. “What the fuck?” was Brian's comment.  
  
“If I stay here a minute more than absolutely necessary, I'm going to end-up acting on the very naughty thoughts that have been running through my head all day …”  
  
“Well, then what's the rush?” Brian asked, tongue in cheek.  
  
Justin grinned and came around the desk, bracing a knee on Brian's chair, cupping both hands at the back of Brian's head and planting an emphatic kiss on the man's lips. It had been three days since they had first made love, and even with the ads all finalized and ready to go, Justin had ended up at the loft each night, though their pursuits were far more enjoyable.  
  
“The rush is,” Justin purred as he kissed his way down Brian's neck. “You have a meeting in five minutes.”  
  
“Fuck,” Brian said, and Justin laughed as he backed away from the chair.  
  
“Later, I promise,” he teased. “Good luck!” he called as he went through the door, leaving Brian cursing him and attempting to quell his arousal.  
  
“Fucker,” Brian hissed, then stuck his tongue in his cheek, chuffed a laugh and shook his head.  
………………….  
  
Brown cars were ugly, but generally inconspicuous unless you were keeping an eye out for ugly brown cars, which Justin was. That was part of the reason why he didn't see the man coming toward him - the rest was because he'd been running through last night when he and Brian had made love through most of the night, and his senses had not been focussed.  
  
The moment he felt the hands on him, his body had one split second to tense and prepare to fight before his senses were overwhelmed by the anger and lust and darkness that was coming off his attacker in waves - then the chloroform rag was brought to his mouth and Justin fell limp like a rag doll in the man's arms.  
  
…………………  
  
Brian silently promised himself that when they got home, he was going to have a very serious talk with his blond lover about his habit of always getting into trouble - first, however, he had to retrieve said blond lover from the new mess he was now in. Glancing in his rear-view, he changed lanes, careful to keep an eye on the brown Volvo several cars ahead of him.  
  
As he drove, Brian took one hand off the wheel and began to shed his suit. He'd been anticipating something happening and had thought it best to be prepared. By the time he followed the brown car down a side street he was Rage. He flicked off the headlights as he followed, and when the car stopped, Brian turned down a side alley and hid his car. When he made it out to the street, Justin and his kidnapper had already disappeared.  
  
……………………  
  
Justin was paralyzed. He was in shock. He was having a panic attack. It felt like maggots were crawling along his body, like he was burning to ashes; he felt as if he would be violently ill, but not even bile would rise to his mouth. He couldn't breath, he couldn't move, he couldn't think. His mind wasn't even his own anymore. The small piece of him that remained alert and alive, that was assessing the situation, demanding the he do something, that he not just let this happen; the part that knew he was strong enough, if only he could get himself together, was trying desperately to erect the mental shields that would protect him from reliving the last moment of every one of Rikert's victims all at once - each horrifying sensation and memory juxtaposed with Rikert's own interpretation of those moments - his arousal, his glee, his sick pride in his work, in his power.  
  
If there were a part of him that was not completely overwhelmed with experiencing and blocking out the horrible images, Justin might have realized that he was bound, naked, covered in a thin filthy sheet to a cheap mattress in an abandoned factory. He might have found some amusement at how depressingly easy it had been to take him down - him, a supposed superhero. What good was a superhero who's powers were so fucking strong that the slightest whiff of evil could send him into a dead faint? But he wasn't thinking clearly.  
  
He lay, sprawled on the dingy mattress, moaning and tugging at the bonds, unable to form thought that was completely his own, unable to block out his soon to be rapist's and murder's plans for his own body. He could see it all happening to him, but he couldn't rise from the memories in order to stop it.  
  
Justin's body spasmed as Rikert's hands clasped around his upper arms. He could hear a low drone, which he assumed to be Rikert's voice, but he couldn't make out the words.  
  
Justin's eyes opened and stared up at the factory ceiling - unable to process the things he looked at. Not taking in the catwalk above his head, or the purple-clad figure who was staring back at him with warm hazel eyes. He felt something cool and grounding pressed to his chest. He moaned and closed his eyes, trying to focus on whatever that grounding thing was and use that to pull himself free of the chaos.  
  
The cool thing moved up his chest to his neck and bit him. The bite of what he only then realized to be a blade pulled him a little closer to the surface, and he blinked. In that moment, he processed the widening hazel eyes that he only then realized he was staring into.  
  
He had just enough time to realize that Rage was there before the man above him was yanked off his body and tackled to the floor. Thoughts blared in his mind, overwhelming him, then. The things Rikert was planning to do the superhero were horrific, and after that, he would be back to finish off Justin. Overwhelmed with images of blood, pain and death, Justin did the only thing he could to prevent himself from slipping into the sweet insanity that the muddle of thoughts and images were calling him towards - he passed out.  
  
…………………  
  
Rage punched the number on his cell and waited three rings before a gruff voice on the other end of the line distracted him from his perusal of the exterior of the warehouse that he was fairly certain Justin had been taken into. “Horvath,” the voice stated.  
  
“I've found your serial killer, get your boys down here.” Brian rattled off the address to the rundown building he was now entering via fire escape and then clicked off the phone. Detective Horvath wasn't the Chief of police, but he was a good cop and had no problem with the gruff tips that Rage would leave him. Brian had known that any superhero needed good contacts with the police department, and it had been a matter of luck that had led him to Horvath.  
  
Rage made his way up the stairs, ducking through the door and into the building, proceeding as quickly and yet as quietly as he could manage. He was hoping for something that would offer him a sight of the warehouse floor so he could see where the man had taken Justin and what he was doing with him - though from the many files he had perused in his research of the cases, he was fairly certain what was planned for his twink.  
  
After following a long hallway, Rage was confronted with a rusted door that led onto a catwalk. He ducked into a crouch and looked about the lower floor. The light in the place was scant as the windows were covered in grime but at the other end of building Rage could see a lamp that hung, swinging slightly, above a bed. He hurried in that direction, keeping his body low.  
  
In a room that was covered in filth and dust, cluttered with cardboard boxes and little else, the bed that Rage found himself peering down at was remarkably clean - which seemed a bit ironic, considering what Rage knew that bed had been used for.  
  
There were cream coloured sheets that lay rumpled across the mattress that - upon closer inspection - was sunken. Rage wasn't paying attention to the bed, however, he couldn't take his eyes away from Justin, who had been bound to the bed frame with thick ropes that were cutting into his skin. The man had obviously drugged the blond, because Justin's eyes were glazed and his breathing was heavy and he was shaking his head as if having an internal conversation with himself.  
  
Rage managed to look away from Justin when movement from a nearby chair caught his attention, and he was startled to realize he knew the man who was casually divesting himself of his jacket and tie - it was Rikert.  
  
It was like falling into one of his nightmares. Memories of the sound of a bat cracking against flesh and bone were one thing. It had been difficult enough for him to deal with being those few seconds slow in saving Justin that first time; he wasn't fool enough to not realize there had been a connection between them even then. But now, whatever it was that existed between them had definitely developed since two years ago, when whatever it was existed only as a spark of electricity that passed between them when their eyes connected that one moment - shared pain and a memory. It had all changed, and for the first time in all the years he had led the dual life of Brian Kinney and Rage - he found he was unable to separate the two.  
  
Rage, in full attire, crouched on the catwalk in an abandoned factory, staring down into the glazed eyes of his lover and felt lost. Brian's doubts and insecurities were rising, he felt responsible for leading his lover into this mess. Rage was used to attracting villains - Justin was a nineteen-year-old kid who hadn't even been back in the Pitts for a full year yet.  
  
He watched, frozen, as Rikert, his shirt unbuttoned exposing a heavily furred chest and a rounding belly, was climbing onto the bed - positing himself above Justin's body until all Rage could see of the blond was his face as Rikert whispered things that made the blue-eyed youth wince as he explored and tasted the exposed skin splayed beneath him.  
  
Fingers stroked, nails bit, tongue laved and teeth scraped, and Brian tried to pull himself together, but Justin was staring up at him with the most agonized expression that defeat and agony and terror and pain. It wasn't until the blue eyes scrunched close that Brian was able to jerk himself free and his eyes slid down to where he noticed a sharp blade was busy drawing blood.  
  
Rage returned then. He felt himself moving faster than he ever had, leaping from the catwalk without bothering to wonder if he were too far up to land safely - Rage didn't care. His feet touched the ground and he was already grabbing hold of the hair on the back of Rikert's hair and yanking him to the foot of the bed.  
  
He wasn't thinking clearly, so it took him a moment to process the sirens, but when he did he began to drag the struggling man towards the warehouse doors. He moved quickly, not wanting the police to burst into the warehouse and find Justin as he was. He pushed open the doors and shoved Rikert out roughly, releasing the grip on the man's hair.  
  
Police cars surrounded them; their lights flashing and by cops, each with their guns cocked and aimed. “What is this?” one of the officers asked, and Rage recognized Stockwell. In a flash Rage turned his attention to the quivering man who was still half-clad. Before Rikert could even formulate an excuse, Rage convinced him to be honest for once in his life.  
  
“You're here for me!” Rikert declared, though he was crying and his voice was cracking as he spoke.  
  
“This is ridiculous,” Stockwell said. “Lower your weapons.”  
  
“Keep your guns on him!” Horvath advised, and the other officers paused a moment in confusion before Rikert took the uncertainty away from them.  
  
“I killed them all - sweet little whores that they were,” he said, a dark smile twisting his features. “They begged me, begged me to stop hurting them, begged me to let them go - and then they begged me to just let them die.”  
  
“Don't say anything else,” Stockwell ordered his partner.  
  
“I don't need to hear anything else,” Horvath said, his voice clearly ringing with disgust. “Arrest him.”  
  
“They were so good - so tight,” Rikert was continuing.  
  
“That's enough,” one of the officers said, and Rage paused only long enough to see the cuffs snap closed before he turned on his heel and headed back into the warehouse.  
  
Horvath found him carefully rapping a sheet around a young blond who lay unconscious on a bed surrounded by a whole lot of nothing. “I'll call an ambulance,” Horvath offered as he came to a stop at the foot of the bed and noticed that the boy's wrists and ankles were cut.  
  
“It's fine,” Rage said. Horvath looked between the blond on the bed, and the superhero he had known for well over five years. He'd never once seen the man pay any interest in the victims he saved beyond offloading them on medics. Rage was all for dramatic entrances and exists, he was certainly not one for hovering.  
  
Still, Horvath watched as the masked man carefully stroked stay locks of blond hair behind one perfect seashell ear, and he nodded. “We'll need to question him about what happen. Rikert's made a confession, but this is the only victim that's lived so he might be called to testify depending on how things go.”  
  
“He'll come speak with you when he's ready,” Rage said gruffly.  
  
Horvath nodded and patted Rage's shoulder. “Thanks for the tip - as usual, you're one step ahead of us on this.” Horvath made his exit, knowing better than to linger and possibly infuriate the man. They might have shared information with each other over the years, working together to solve cases, but Rage wasn't exactly sociable, and in truth, he intimidated Horvath. He didn't risk glancing over his shoulder as he exited the warehouse; Carl wasn't exactly certain what Rage's powers were. Instead, he got in his car and headed back to the station where he could finally rap up this case.  
  
…………………………….  
  
Justin awoke to warm breath ghosting across his face and the feel of a hand cupping the back of his head. He was aware that he was naked, but covered in a cool sheet. He was also aware that he should be freaking out, panicking, hyperventilating and generally falling apart. Instead, the presence that he could feel so very close to his own body wasn't making him scared at all. He wasn't being bombarded by any foreign emotions or thoughts or memories. Everything was quiet and calm.  
  
He blinked open his eyes, and was oddly surprised when he was confronted by the masked face of Rage. His thoughts began spinning then, his breath picked up and he frowned as he stared closely into the warm hazel eyes of the superhero who had now rescued him twice -- or two and a half times, Justin didn't count those thieves, he could have taken them.  
  
Rage seemed to misunderstand his reaction as the masked man stroked a thumb gently over Justin's cheekbone and then their mouths came together like magnets. Justin lost himself in the kiss. In the gentle stroke of the warm tongue he allowed into his mouth. He let Rage's warm taste clear away the nightmare he had just experienced; let the feel of warm hands running gently over his body, simultaneously assessing damage and bringing pleasure, lull him into a state of calm, let them push away the pain and terror that was a result of the attack.  
  
When they broke apart, Justin blinked open his eyes and finally allowed himself to make the connection that he had been fighting since he had opened his eyes only a few moments before. No. If he were honest, he had known before this, but it had seemed too much to be believed.  
  
He smiled and cupped the back of Rage's head and brought familiar lips down to meet his own. Justin kissed the masked superhero like the lover he knew him to be, and when they broke apart, he knew, from the expression on the other man's face, that Rage had received his message. “I won't tell anyone,” Justin promised, then leaned up to reclaim Brian's lips.  
  
\---------------------------  
End Episode  
\---------------------------  



	8. Suspicious Superhero

Justin pressed backwards, arching his hips and moaning when the change in angles forced Brian’s cock against his prostate. He could feel the larger man above him and in him, felt his lips softly against the back of his neck and Brian’s hand twining with Justin’s own, knotting with the sheets that Justin was gripping. Two more sharp thrusts and both Justin and Brian were pushed over the edge, collapsing back onto Brian’s regenerative bed, which Justin had come to appreciate.

“You should mass market these,” Justin said idly as he lay in Brian’s arms. “Make a fortune.”

“You just want one for yourself,” Brian teased.

“Well, you’re only refusing to tell me how you got it because this way I have no choice but to come over to use yours,” Justin said. Brian quirked an eyebrow at the blond and Justin grinned, tweaking his lover’s nipple and smirking in self-satisfaction. “I’m onto you,” Justin boasted.

“You’re abusing the bed by staying up and talking my head off,” Brian said, but his hand was stroking up and down Justin’s back.

“If I were blowing you, you’d be perfectly happy.”

Brian stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Your point?”

“Just pointing out your hypocrisy,” Justin said. Brian nodded and Justin grinned, shifting a bit more until he was sprawled more comfortably on top of Brian.

“What are you doing?” Brian asked when, after a moment, Justin rested his head on Brian’s chest and did not move.

“Shh,” Justin whispered. “I’m asleep.”

“The fuck you are,” Brian huffed. “You’re not sleeping sprawled all over me,” he complained. He felt Justin’s lips quirk upwards against his chest. Brian made a production out of finding a comfortable position to sleep -- Justin didn’t fail to notice that none of his lover’s movements dislodged him from his resting place.

........

“Hey,” Justin greeted Brian when he emerged from the bedroom. They’d both already showered, and Justin was sitting at the table eating an omelet he had made. “You need to do some serious grocery shopping.”

“I have all the necessities,” Brian shrugged.

“Poppers and beer,” Justin said, rolling his eyes. “And some freakish fruit drink --“

“Guava juice is not a freakish fruit drink,” Brian challenged.

“And what looks like the wretched remnants of a zucchini.” Justin bit his lip as Brian took a seat at the table, and raised an eyebrow when the brunette looked at him. “Do I want to know?” he asked.

”Probably not,” Brian answered, which caused the blond to laugh.

“Anyway, it’s a good thing I’m an early riser and had time to run and get the stuff for omelets.”

“Since when are you an early riser?” Brian asked in disbelief. Which was true, Justin was a night owl. He hated the mornings with the passion of a vampire, but he didn’t think it was appropriate to tell the man that he’d been awoken with a vision of an older lesbian getting shot while she was walking her dog, and it was The Secret Avenger to the rescue. Once he was out, he figured he might as well pick-up some breakfast. Justin distracted his lover by stretching his socked foot out to rest in the other man’s lap.

“Hey, did you see this?” Justin asked, tossing the paper across the table. Brian didn’t answer that ridiculous statement, and instead glanced down at the paper. “It must have happened last night,” Justin said. He was mildly disturbed that he had not experienced a vision regarding it but then again, it was likely he was in the throws of passion with Brian and that in all probability overwhelmed any of his other senses. Either way, he’d have to get on this.

Brian glanced down at the paper that, in big block letters, declared that someone had kidnapped the newly ordained king of Babylon. “Why are you giving me this?” Brian asked, one hand idly rubbing Justin’s foot as Justin’s foot rubbed him, and the other grasping the fork to eat his breakfast that he’d found kept warm on a dish with a lid in the centre of the table.

Justin gave him a look of disbelief. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I mean, I’m just sitting down to breakfast with Rage and the paper says there’s some attack on Liberty -- again. I have no idea why I would hand the paper to you, draw your attention to the article, and ask if you had plans.”

Brian rolled his eyes and shoved Justin’s foot from his lap. The blond returned it. “An attack against the King of Babylon is not an attack on Liberty. He was fucking ugly, whoever did it was doing Liberty a favor.”

“You were checking him out,” Justin scolded. They had been at Babylon to watch the contest, but apparently had both returned home before there had been any real action.

“He was hung,” Brian answered with a shrug.

Justin, having finished his breakfast, rose to clear his place. “Well, that’s half of what counts here, anyway,” he quipped.

“Only half? What’s the other half?” Brian questioned. Instead of walking around the island, Justin bent across it to reach the sink and place his dish in it, presenting his ass to Brian, who laughed at his antics. “Well, if he looks like something a roach coughed up, then I wouldn’t be venturing anywhere near either of those, no matter how they looked.”

Brian was quickly becoming used to this routine. More and more frequently, Justin was spending the night at Brian’s loft, and the subject of Brian’s alternate identity was becoming casual between them. Justin once again surprised Brian by accepting the truth with equanimity, completely unfazed by the reality, by the implications.

“Do we have plans for tonight?” Justin asked, as Brian grabbed his briefcase and keys, and Justin gathered his overnight bag and portfolio, and they headed out to work.

“Woody’s?” Brian asked.

“Sure,” Justin said. “But I have an early morning meeting, so I’m taking the vette, and heading back to my place.”

“Of course,” Brian said, tongue-in-cheek.

.....

Justin passed Daphne’s desk and picked up his work-related files he noticed sitting on top of it, as well as the plain manila envelope she always used when passing along files related to Justin’s other work as a late-night superhero.

“I know,” he said when he noticed Daphne rushing over to reach him before he disappeared into his office. He waved the folder at her and she gave him the thumbs-up and he closed the door to his office. He had enough time to hang-up his coat and scarf, drop the files on his desk and open the information Daphne had already scrounged-up regarding the King of Babylon’s apparent kidnapping when there was a knock on his door and Daphne barged in. “Come in,” Justin teased.

Daphne closed the door and settled herself onto the sofa Justin had. “Have you told Brian yet?”

“Why would I do that?” Justin asked, not looking up from documents he was perusing.

“Duh,” Daphne said. “Because he’s, like, your boyfriend? You’re supposed to share stuff like that.”

“I can imagine that,” Justin said, finally looking up. “Hi, Honey. What’s for dinner? Sounds delicious. By the way, I’m a gay crusader, championing the rights of homosexuals of this fine city. Well, I’m going for a shower.”

“Like you and Brian would ever have pet names!” Daphne said as she laughed.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Brian said, as he peaked into Justin’s office. “The Kooning meeting got shifted up to twelve-thirty. Will you have the touch-ups done by then?”

“They’re done now,” Justin said, gesturing to the mock-ups that were propped on an easel. “I’ll get James to bring them up. He’s pretty good at not being seen or heard.”

“He’s not wearing that god damned lucky tie, is he? That things fucking hideous,” Brian snarked.

“Nope, no lucky tie today. His wife threw it out last week,” Daphne offered.

“Good for her,” Brian said. “Later.”

“Oh my god!” Daphne said as soon as the door had closed, letting out the snicker she’d been attempting to suppress.

“What?” Justin asked.

“What?” Daphne asked. “Don’t look now, Sunshine, but your significant other has a pet name for you!”

“It’s not a pet name,” Justin defended. “And we’re not dating. Not really.”

“Uh huh,” Daphne said. “So all those nights you aren’t tucked safely in your bed at the apartment -- you not sharing a bed with Brian at his loft? You’re telling me that you two don’t fuck like rabbits?”

“No, we fuck like rabbits,” Justin confirmed. “We’re just not together.”

“Just because you don’t call it ‘together’ doesn’t mean you’re not ‘together’.”

“What the fuck ever,” Justin said.

“You even sound like him, sometimes!” Daphne cried. “So why haven’t you told him about your sexy alter-ego?”

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Justin said.

“Just because you haven’t gotten over the bashing and are freaked-out about trusting people, doesn’t mean you should continue to keep the people who care about you at arms length,” Daphne said.

“Do you know what they call him on Liberty Avenue?” Justin asked.

“No,” Daphne said.

“They call him ‘the stud’. He’s gone through everyone, pretty much. He tricks like crazy and he’s never settled down with anyone.”

“Yeah, but you told me he’s also never done repeats,” Daphne said.

“It’s just a fling, or something,” Justin said.

“Justin.” Daphne sighed and shook her head. “Whatever you need to tell yourself in order to be comfortable with him. I’m just saying that, one day, you’re going to wake up in Brian’s bed with Brian’s arms around you, with over half of your worldly possessions in Brian’s loft, and you’re going to finally realize that maybe what you have is a little bit serious, bordering on permanent. Then you’re going call me and yell at me for not making you tell him about your alter-ego, and I’m just saying, I’m going to have to draw your attention to the fact that ‘I told you so’.”

Justin snorted. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Daphne said. “Just so you know.”

.......

Justin was used to breakfasts at Liberty Diner, he was used to drinking at Woody’s with Brian and his friends, and dancing at Babylon. Justin didn’t make friends easily, he never had. The bashing certainly hadn’t helped him in that regard. It surprised Justin, sometimes, how quickly he had felt at home with Brian’s friends, but he soon realized that they were, for the most part, friendly and sociable. Justin’s abilities had helped him relax as well; that, and the incentive that these were Brian’s friends.

“What’s up?” Brian asked, when Justin tossed back his shot and bumped his hip against Brian’s side.

“I should head-out,” Justin said.

“Already?” Emmett asked.

“What do you mean ‘already’?” Ted asked. “We’ve been here for almost four hours. It’s three in the morning.”

“Do you need a ride?” Brian asked, though he knew Justin had taken the ‘vette.

“No, I’m okay. I’ll see you later,” Justin said. Brian grabbed his wrist, tugging him back into a deep kiss.

“Later,” Brian whispered. He watched Justin walk out of Woody’s, the confident stride, swishing his hips as he walked.

“My, my,” Emmett said, fanning himself.

“Don’t start,” Brian said, rolling his eyes. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and handed his pool cue to Michael. “Actually, I should be heading-out as well.”

“Hm. Babylon or the baths?” Ted murmured to Emmett.

“Though why he’d need anything other than that hot young thang, I’ll never know,” Emmett said.

“Neither one of you is actually whispering,” Brian pointed out coolly.

“Oops,” they said simultaneously.

“Brian!” Michael called, following Brian as he headed for the door. “Do you need help?”

“It’s okay, Mikey,” Brian said. “Go home to the good doctor.”

“I can still help! I want to help!” Michael defended. They stood outside Woody’s, facing off on the sidewalk.  
“Not tonight, Mikey,” Brian said. “Nothing’s happening tonight.”

“This is Liberty Avenue,” Michael joked. “Something’s alwayshappening.” Brian smirked but didn’t answer; Michael nodded having learned his friend’s mannerisms and habits over the years. “Good luck,” he said. Brian waved and headed to his Jeep.

........

Babylon closed at three o’clock in the morning. At three thirty it was empty of employees. At four, Rage broke the lock and snuck in the backdoor. He peeked into the backroom, unsure what he was looking for.

The club looked much bigger without men to fill it. Rage found his way to the stage, and then moved behind it, thinking about the night of the kidnapping, trying to remember anything that might be a clue.

“The scene of the crime,” a voice said; a voice that Rage was swiftly becoming familiar with. A study lamp switched on to reveal JT, clad in his usual ensemble, leaning over a table where someone had been doing paperwork and left the paper, pencil and lamp set-out. “What do you think?” JT asked, walking over to Rage and peering around at the shadows the lamp cast. “I figure it was Mr. Green in the conservatory with the rope. Your turn.”

“I’m not Sherlock Holmes,” Rage snorted.

“Good, because I have to say, I don’t look much like a Watson,” JT retorted. “Besides, that was Clue, not Sherlock Holmes.”

“I never played it,” Rage said, moving away to look around.

“You missed out,” JT offered.

“Clearly,” Rage replied. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know where the King lived, so I took my chances with this place,” JT offered cryptically. “Though I don’t think there’s anything helpful here.”

Rage watched as JT turned away, picking up objects every now and then, though there wasn’t much to manhandle. He followed the other superhero as the blond seemed to wander through the club. “Do you know where they keep the old sets, or lost items?” JT asked after a moment.

“How the fuck should I know?” Rage said without thought.

“Well, then what were you hoping to find?” JT asked.

“Nothing,” Rage said. “I needed a place to think.” He watched as full lips quirked into an amused smile, and then they parted ways, each following their own path in the darkness.

Rage wasn’t certain how much time passed. He retraced his steps from that night, and then retraced what he could recall were the movements of the King of Babylon. There wasn’t much he could recall. Before the contest, Brian had been dancing with Justin. During the contest, they had been checking out and joking about the contestants. Afterwards, they’d left quickly to return to the loft. Brian recalled Justin’s private performance, spurred by adrenaline and alcohol, and maybe a tab of E. The young blond had been hot.

“Hey!” JT’s voice called from the darkness. Rage turned, trying to place where the other man was. He spotted him, leaning over the railing above, seemingly just exiting from Sapperstein’s office. “Just thought you should know that I know where the King lives.”

“Why do you keep calling him The King?”

“Well, do you remember his name?” JT asked. He paused, waiting for an answer. “I didn’t think so.”

“How did you get his address?” Rage asked when JT had reached the main level.

JT stepped into Rage, his mouth close to Rage’s ear. “I could tell you,” JT said, his breath warm, Rage only just bit-back a moan. “But then I’d have to kill you.” JT stepped away, his entire demeanor shifting back and he grinned. “You coming?”

There was something oddly pathetic about having to walk to the apartment complex where ‘the King’ lived. True, they were traveling on rooftops and they were more running than walking, but Rage couldn’t help thinking wistfully of his black Jeep.

“This is it,” JT said, stopping on one of the roofs. “Here, we can get in this way.” JT broke the locks to the roof access and they entered the apartment building, easily finding room 501, which was, according to the black-clad twink, the home of the kidnapped King of Babylon.

“What are you hoping to find here?” Rage asked as the Avenger once again implemented his lock-picking skills to enter the apartment.

“A clue, of course,” JT said. “Come on.”

The king of Babylon was a slob. He had no taste either. Rage picked his way through the dirty clothes that looked like they came from the Big Q that littered the floor. The furnishings were mismatched and clashed with the brightly painted walls. The apartment was cramped. Rage didn’t see anything that could be a clue, but he kept looking. JT seemed to be touching everything. Rage watched as the blond superhero disappeared into the bedroom.

“Ah ha!” JT cried, he came out holding a pillow triumphantly. “He had someone over after the contest!” Rage wanted to ask again how the other man could know these things, but restrained himself. He already felt off-balance whenever he was near the blond. It unnerved him to discover that there were, in fact, two men who could affect him in such a way, and he only really knew one of them. He didn’t want to give too much away to this stranger.

“Smelling the sheets? That’s a bit tacky,” Rage said.

JT only grinned. “They wreak of sex. And,” JT said. “It was one of the guys from the contest. Looks like my prediction was accurate after all.” To Rage’s quirked eyebrow, JT elaborated. “Mr. Green, with a rope.”

“Don’t tell me. He fucked the king and then tied him up and gagged him and . what, took him back to his evil layer?”

“Well, the king ended up bound, alright. He was hog-tied. As for a secret layer, I’m willing to bet it’s a simple matter of finding the guy’s apartment.”

“Fine,” Rage said. “What’s his name?”

“What’s whose name?” JT asked.

“The guy you have seemingly, and randomly, decided is responsible for all this?”

“Oh him,” JT said. “I don’t know.” Rage stared at the masked man for a moment, but he soon realized JT wasn’t kidding.

“Well, how is that supposed to help?” Rage asked.

“I don’t see you coming up with any bright ideas!” JT said.

“I don’t believe this,” Rage said.

“Well, if he hog-tied the guy then he’d have to live pretty close, right?” JT asked. “I mean, he wasn’t that big, and we’re on the fifth floor. He’s got to be in the area!”

“You want to knock on everyone’s door and ask them if they’ve hog-tied and kidnapped someone lately?” Rage asked. “Fuck, we have to go to Sapperstein.”

“That creep?” JT asked.

“He keeps the name and address of all the guys,” Rage said.

“He only needs the winner’s contact information in order to arrange the prize,” JT said.

“This is Sapperstein. The man uses any excuse to get information about attractive guys.”

JT made a ‘yucky’ face and shivered, and Rage snorted. “Well, I’m not propositioning him, if that’s what you think.”

“I don’t know how you go about this, but I certainly had no intention of doing that. Follow me.” It was JT’s turn to follow Rage over the rooftops. They traveled some ways before Rage, dangling from a drainpipe, opened a window.

“Visit here often?” JT teased.

“Shut up and follow me,” Rage said, disappearing inside. They were in Gary Sapperstein’s bedroom, a place JT never ever wanted to be. The man was a piece of work and not in a creative masterpiece sort of way.

“Wake the fuck up, Asshole,” Rage said.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” JT crooned. Rage tried to ignore the blond and kicked at Sapperstein’s mattress.

“What? Holy shit!” Sapperstein said, jolting awake and, oddly enough, yanking the sheets up to his chest like a frightened virgin.

“Get a grip,” Rage scoffed.

“Please, I don’t want to see what’s beneath those sheets,” JT said. “By all means, pull those covers higher.”

“What do you want?” Sapperstein asked.

“I want the list of all the participants in the King of Babylon contest,” Rage said.

“I only take the winner’s information,” Gary lied. Rage employed his powers and soon Sapperstein was scrambling from the bed.

“Make him take the bedding with him!” JT cried, covering his eyes. Rage stuck his tongue in his cheek but Sapperstein at least picked up a sheet and wrapped it around himself, part of it trailing behind him as he hurried into a different room to find the requested papers.

“That’s all I have,” Sapperstein said.

“That’s all I need,” Rage said. Rage was turning to the window, but JT paused and glared a Sapperstein. Rage turned around in time to watch the man tumble back onto his bed, unconscious. “What did you do?”

“Me?” JT asked, blinking wide blue eyes on him. “I sang him a lullaby and tucked him in for the night.” Rage ignored the blond, climbing out the window and making it to the roof before he looked at the papers he’d collected. “Anything?” JT said.

“Everything,” Rage said. “Look, he’s even got pictures.”

“What a creep,” JT said. “Uh oh, sun’s coming up.”

“I’m not a vampire, are you?” Rage said.

“No, but I have a day-job,” JT said. Rage snickered. “You keep the papers.”

“You’re going to let me handle this one? How magnanimous,” Rage retorted.

“Don’t be an idiot,” JT said. “You have no idea who to pay a visit to. I’ll meet you at Babylon at eleven tomorrow -- or, tonight,” JT said. “Ta!” Rage watched as JT leapt over the edge of the building. Unable to restrain himself, he took a few steps to the edge to see if he could catch the Secret Avenger as he made his way to wherever he came from. He didn’t see a thing.

.......

Justin made in home, having caught the late -- or early -- bus after changing out of JT’s clothes. He had an hour to sleep and then he had to haul himself out of bed to eat and dress for work. Vance had scheduled an early meeting and had requested Justin be there.

“You look like shit,” Daphne offered helpfully, but Justin instantly forgave her because she thrust a cup of strong coffee in his direction. “Learn anything?”

“Rage has never played Clue,” Justin offered. “Oh, and I figured out who kidnapped the King.”

“I wish you would call him Bartholomew,” Daphne said. “That’s his name.”

“Fuck, you mean people still name their kids Bartholomew?” Justin asked.

“I have an uncle named Bartholomew, it’s a perfectly respectable name!” Daphne defended.

“I’m too tired to argue,” Justin said. “You drive today, I’m likely to fall asleep at the wheel.”

“That’s just what we need,” Daphne said. “Get your perky butt moving.”

“There’s nothing perky about my butt this morning,” Justin said.

“Aw, Sweetums,” Daphne said. “Your bum is always perky.” She smacked Justin’s bum, which got the blond moving and brightened her day. That’s what friendship was all about, Daphne thought.

........

Justin had exploited his lover ruthlessly. He’d seduced Brian after work and they’d ended-up at the loft. “I can’t believe I’m using you for your regenerative bed,” Justin whispered to his sleeping lover. Justin had been exhausted for the better part of the day, and though coffee took off the edge, he still was tired. It was nothing that a slow fuck and a few good hours of sleep on his lover’s special bed didn’t cure, however.

“Wake up,” Justin said once he’d gotten dressed. He kissed Brian’s bare chest, just above the nipple.

“Hm, what?” Brian asked.

“I have to go and pick-up Daphne,” Justin said. “You don’t need to get up, I just wanted to let you know.”

“I’ll see you tonight?” Brian asked, slightly more awake.

“Haven’t you had enough of me already?” Justin asked with a smile. Brian stretched, wrapping his arms around Justin and then quickly rolling over, pinning the blond beneath him, his mouth leaving wet hungry kisses along Justin’s sensitive throat. “Guess not,” Justin said with a sigh. “Wait, I really have to go.” Brian reluctantly released the blond. “Tonight, at Woody’s. Midnight?” Justin asked. He was fairly confident that they could wrap-up the case of the missing King of Babylon before then. He wondered if Brian felt the same way.

Brian paused, seeming to consider something for a moment before he smiled. “Sure.”

“You have something to do tonight?” Justin asked, unable to resist teasing the man.

“I should be done in time,” Brian said.

“Ah, unofficial business?” Justin asked, Brian’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. “Okay, okay!” Justin joked, flinging his hands-up in mock surrender. “Later.”

“Later,” Brian’s voice echoed as Justin headed confidently to the door.

.......

“This one,” JT said, pointed to the name ninth from the top.

“You’re certain?” Rage asked.

“Absolutely,” JT confirmed.

“Hold on,” JT watched as Rage actually pulled-out a cell-phone, though heaven only knew where the man kept it. It wasn’t like the tight purple suit offered any pockets -- or non-visible hiding places.

“You’re calling the police?” JT asked, surprised at the other man.

“We’re going to get to him first and make sure it all runs smooth. I don’t know about you, but I have other plans for tonight,” Rage retorted. JT tried to keep a smile from his face.

They made fairly good time and arrived at Phillip Grenview’s apartment that, as JT had predicted the night before, was on the main floor of the King’s apartment building. Rage stood back and watched with amusement as JT knocked on the apartment door.

“Who is it?” a low voice asked from inside.

“Special delivery!” JT said, his voice light. The door opened and the man stood in shock, staring at JT and then his eyes drifted back and he stared at Rage. “Hi!” JT greeted. “We’re part of a coalition to protect gay royalty. I believe you have our king.”

“What the fuck?” the man asked.

“Excuse me!” JT said with a friendly smile, pushing the man to the side and entering the apartment. It was almost the exact opposite of the King’s home. Everything was coordinated, though there were too many earth tones in Rage’s opinion. It was neat and organized, and in the corner was the king of Babylon, bound and gagged.

“Back off, that’s my lover!” Phillip snarled when JT bent to undo the ropes. Rage held up a warning hand and his appearance was threatening enough that he didn’t even had to use his mind-control to make certain the man didn’t move.

“We broke up, Phillip!” the King said once JT had removed his gag. “I swear, we broke up,” the king explained to JT. “He’s really bad in bed. I was celebrating my freedom and my friends said the best way to do that, to really say ‘fuck you’ was to do the contest.”

“You’re mine! You can’t wave your dick at everyone!” Phillip said.

“I’ll wave it at anyone I want to!” the king answered. JT had freed him of all the ropes, and the King actually pulled his pants down and started swishing his hips, causing his dick to swing back and forth.

“Stop it!” Phillip cried.

“I’m free! I’m free of you!” the King cried.

“This is just a little too twisted for me,” JT said, he was carefully stepping towards the door. “Hey, use your mind control to make them stop.”

“And what are you going to do?” Rage asked.

“Hey, I got us here!” JT said. Rage turned to lovers in mid-quarrel, he planted the suggestion that they keep their clothes on, sit down and shut up. They complied. “God, what a fucked-up night.”

“Rage,” Horvath said stepping into the apartment. “And .” he spotted JT.

“Just call me, the Secret Avenger,” JT said amiably.

“That’s quite a mouthful,” Horvath said.

“I aim to please,” JT said. “Well, I suppose you both have this under control.”

“Hey,” Rage and Horvath spoke simultaneously, but JT had stepped out of the room.

“I haven’t actually run into him,” Horvath said. “But I’ve heard lots of stories. He’s quite a character.”

“Yeah, can you deal with these two alright? It was just a lover’s quarrel,” Rage said. “They should be willing to tell you all about it.”

“Do I want to know?” Horvath asked.

“Probably not,” Rage said.

“Thanks,” Horvath said, but Rage had gone just as quickly and quietly as the Secret Avenger had.

.........

Brian was late, but he made it to Woody’s. His first stop was the bar where he downed several shots quickly, hoping to get the crazy King waving his dick at his ex-lover out of his head. That was why Brian avoided relationships.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d make it,” Michael offered.

“I told Justin I’d be here,” Brian said with a shrug.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t .bv whatever,” Michael said. Brian knew that his friend wanted to point out that saying he’d be somewhere at a particular time had never meant much before -- there was always the implied disclaimer: subject to Rage business or ‘something coming up’. “He’s in the back playing pool with Emmett and some other guys.”

“I just need a drink,” Brian said.

“Fucked up night?” Michael asked.

“You have no idea,” Brian said.

“Tell me about it,” Michael said, wanting to hear what Brian had been up to.

“Later,” Brian said. “I have an errant twink to find.”

“You wouldn’t be talking about me, would you? Because I’m not really a twink,” Justin said, leaning on Brian as he flagged the bartender down and ordered a couple beers.

“Hey,” Brian greeted and they shared a quick kiss.

“Hm, you’re late,” Justin said.

“It couldn’t be avoided,” Brian said.

They kissed again, before Justin pulled-back. He took the glass the bartender offered him. “No,” Justin said. “I’m not ready to head home yet. And I do feel like another drink. Come play pool. I’m winning lots of money.” Justin pecked Brian’s lips again and headed back in the direction of the pool tables.

Michael was snickering. “You should have used your legendary powers of mind control to bend that twink to your will.”

Brian watched Justin’s retreating back before he turned to Michael. “I did,” he said.

For a moment Michael was frozen, gaping at Brian, his mouth open in shock. The moment passed and Michael laughed, bumping his shoulder against Brian’s. “You had me for a minute,” he said, still laughing. “No one can stand-up against your mind-control.”

Brian turned away from his snickering friend and looked back at Justin, a frown drawing his brows together as he watched the young blond laugh.  



End file.
